


The Likeness of Men: A Supernatural Fanfiction

by C E Hammock (ceh3167)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Behemoth, Bible, Faith Healers, Fingerbones, M/M, Romance, Throne of God, magic objects
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22671670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceh3167/pseuds/C%20E%20Hammock
Summary: This story was originally begun before the Supernatural series finale. In light of its terrible conclusion for Dean and Castiel I have decided to focus on Destiel and abandon the remainder of the story.I want to try and redeem the ending for Dean and Cas. I wrote a blog post on this subject that you can read athttps://ceh3167.wordpress.com/2020/11/22/supernaturals-terrible-ending-responding-with-storytelling-write-your-own-ending/The first 15 chapters predate the series finale. The remaining chapters were written in light of the finale.In this first episode, Cas and Dean argue and Cas leaves the Bunker. Castiel grieves their break-up and expresses his feeling of depression and sadness, before embarking on his own personal search for redemption.I am also posting my story to my personal website, which you can find at the following link:https://ceh3167.wordpress.com/my-stories/a-supernatural-fanfiction/
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 4





	1. The Break-Up

**Author's Note:**

> I have started my fanfiction at the end of Season 15 Episode 3 where Dean attacks Castiel and Cas leaves the Bunker.

Castiel let the bunker door slam behind him with a loud metallic crash. The sound reverberated through the corridors of the underground bunker and would be the last evidence of Castiel that Dean would ever hear. From then on it would be silence. This knowledge devastated Cas' heart.

He longed to return to heaven and resume his duties with his brothers and sisters, but the shame he felt, the guilt he harbored in his heart over the atrocities he committed against them, was so intense, he could never hope for their forgiveness. He no longer belonged there. The battles between his brothers and sisters had depleted heaven to the brink of extinction. He played a pivotal role. Castiel grieved their absence.

Now Dean had repulsed him from his last sanctuary among the humans. Anguish tore at his heart like a hell hound tearing at human flesh. He endured separation before, even as a human when Dean asked him to leave the bunker. He survived, even without his angel powers. He remade himself as Steve. Even then he still felt he had the privilege to pray. Not anymore. With his powers restored, he felt mocked and even more helpless.

Cas felt condemned to wander the earth as a lonely and useless derelict among the humans. Since he couldn't be with the one he longed for, the one that gave his existence a sense of purpose, this made him feel lost and aimless. In all of his existence, he never felt this way before. Looking after the humans, this particular human, gave him his first real sense of purpose, not just an abstract assignment from his superiors. Now he just wanted to be that dutiful angel of the Lord that followed his orders, loved his Father, and did his work without the complications of emotions and sentiment that Sam and Dean aroused in him. There was no going back. Even his own father had betrayed him. Jack was gone too.

He could see that Dean was angry that their plans had gone astray. Cas had to change the plan at the last moment. He destroyed the body of Jack in a fit of anger to rid it of that detestable demon that was desecrating it. He screamed in anguish through the halls of hells as he smote the damn thing. How could Dean be so cold to not see his pain?

"Something always goes wrong," Cas told Dean, trying to defend himself.

When Dean yelled: "Then why does that something always seemed to be you," that felt like the most crushing thing that Dean could ever have said to him. Dean looked away.

Cas searched Dean’s face for some sign of openness. "You used to trust me, gave me the benefit of the doubt. Now you can barely look at me," he said. Castiel had hoped to find some mercy with those words. 

When Dean finally did look back, his eyes were filled with a glare of resentment.

"My powers are failing, and I've tried to talk to you over and over. You don't want to hear it. You don't care. I'm dead to you. You still blame me for Mary." He hoped that Dean would tell him that Cas was wrong. That Dean really didn’t feel that way.

Dean's glare didn't soften; his eyes remained hard and bitter.

He left Cas with no other move to make. "Well. I don't think there is anything left to say." Cas turned to walk away. His last hope was that Dean would call him back.

"Where are you going?" said Dean.

Castiel felt a glimmer of hope. "Jack's dead, Chuck is gone; you and Sam have each other. I think it's time for me to move on," said Cas. He wanted Dean to tell him that there was still a place here for him, that Sam and Dean still needed him.

Those words didn’t come. After one last exchange of looks, Castiel turned and climbed the stairs toward the door. The last of his hope faded when the words calling him back did not come. Dean stood stoic with his clenched jaw and didn’t utter those yearned for words. Then Cas was out the door and heard it slam shut behind him.

This break-up hit Castiel particularly hard. He had never experienced any kind of physical or emotional attraction with any other being before until he encountered Dean. Only recently, in the presence of the humans, did these feelings of pleasure and strife feel so enormous. Until recently, he had never needed to take on a vessel. Jimmy Novak was long since dead; Castiel inhabited his body without competition.

As Castiel became more acquainted with the physiology of his host, with its capacities for stimulation and desire, and its depths of yearning and affection, he understood why the angels were discouraged from plummeting into those emotional and sensual caverns. Sometimes, in Dean's presence, Cas felt his vessel tingle with excitement. At first, Cas assumed it was the residue of Jimmy's occupancy that Cas found pleasurable and amusing, but never attributed to himself. It wasn’t until after his vessel has been rebuilt that Castiel wondered why that tingle was still there. Only then, did he consider the possibility that it might be him generating those tingling sensations. Feelings and desires that he didn't know he could have. Repression was a human thing; Cas looked directly at them and analyzed them with the scrutiny of a microscope and was amazed that they were actually his own. He would never let their presence show and always maintained his stoic demeanor. Maintaining a human vessel was awkward enough when he was alone. Trying to comprehend human emotions and motivations were often baffling, especially in the presence of the Winchester Brothers.

Outside, in the waning light of the evening dusk, Cas felt his chin tremble and his hands shake. Dean's stern face came unbidden to his mind. He let his imagination linger on Dean's green eyes and pouty lips. He wanted to press his own lips against them and feel the scruff of Dean's beard rubbed against his own. Castiel never expected how intense he could feel in his vessel’s body until he had lived as a human himself. This body, now his own, scared him with its hunger and long, its feelings of weakness and abandonment, and its arousal and lust. Castiel raveled silently in the joys of affection and happiness that he had never explored, and was stung by the shame and humiliation of his failures, of social awkwardness and new levels of morals demands that never occurred to him.

He became more familiar with this body's desires. Living in a body changed him. The guys taught him new feelings, experiences that angels didn't normally have. He and the others of the Heavenly Host certainly understood loyalty, obedience, and the moral teachings of the Father. Love, sex, lust, jealousy, and envy seem to spawn from the body's neurons. Resentment, vanity, pride, all those base feelings and thoughts he once considered pollutants to the angelic nature now became more than just a simple moral choice but intractable moral dilemmas. These aberrations seem to have their source in human nature, in their existence. God's favoritism toward the humans perplexed Castiel. When the brothers were sleeping, he pondered God’s motives. Why would God favor them; why would God turn on them? They weren't simple like the angels. They were so complicated. They did indeed bear the image of God in their inexhaustible depths.

[ ](https://ceh3167.wordpress.com/my-stories/)

Most of the angels held the body in derision as unholy. Castiel did too until he cut himself off from heaven. Cas told himself he did so to stay closer to Dean and better protect his charge. That self-delusion was quickly punctured when he lost his grace and lived as one of them. His attraction to Dean intensified. Cas could no longer deny that he wanted to be near him, and not out of duty Cas tried to convince himself that he fell out of empathy and love. He still believed that but had to accept the fact that there was also some greed and possessiveness mixed into his motives.

How could he explain this to Dean? His beloved would cast him off and then call him back, just to send him away again. It tore at Castiel's heart. Now, again, Dean sent him away. He had enough. Dean said he was the problem. Cas went willingly. In the last rays of the setting sun, in the near darkness, Cas let the tears that had been welling up in his eyes finally fall and streak his cheeks. With one last sigh, he vanished with a wing flap, promising never to return.


	2. There Once was Two Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this episode, Sam and Dean argue about Cas and discuss their relationship with each other.
> 
> I am also posting my fanfiction story to my personal website, which you can find at the following link: https://ceh3167.wordpress.com/my-stories/a-supernatural-fanfiction/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean invokes Jesus' parable of the Prodigal Son about the two brothers in the parable.

Dean heard the metal door of the bunker slam shut. He sighed in relief. A pang of guilt shuddered through him with the bang of the door. Still, he didn’t make any move to stop Castiel from leaving.

He had never seen Cas on the verge of tears before. Why did Dean feel like he needed retribution at this moment? Some venial desire to hurt Cas? He accused him of being the cause of all their problems, and Cas didn't fight back.

When Cas turned to leave, Dean had a moment of weakness. "Where will you go?" he asked him.

What did he expect Cas to say? Did Dean want him to get on his knees and grovel for forgiveness? Did he really want to treat his friend that way? Maybe Cas’ response was inadequate. Yes, he still had Sam and that was what mattered. He could have called him back. He didn't. He let his eyes harden.

Feelings of resentment had crept into his heart against Cas, which he didn't want to encounter anymore. It was easier to just shove Cas away. He felt bad treating Castiel that way, who had been a loyal friend to him. Still, Dean couldn't forgive Cas for putting his own interests over Sam. He broke the wall in Sam's mind. Yes, Castiel paid for that episode with his life, dying in the river. Yet Dean still hung on to the trench coat. Yes, yes, Cas redeemed himself when he took on Sam's insanity. So, why? why? was he so angry at Cas? Why was he letting his best friend walk away? He couldn't handle another complicated emotional relationship right now.

"You were pretty hard on him," said Sam from behind.

Dean leaped out of his thoughts and turned towards Sam who stood in the doorway of the library.

"Yeah, well he screwed things up." Dean used that Gruff voice when he tried to convince himself that he was right.

"It wasn’t his fault. He’s in a lot of pain too."

"Stop defending him. He’s an angel. He should be able to deal with his issues better," said Dean.

"I don’t think angels were made to deal with human emotions," said Sam. "He lost Jack."

"Well, we lost Mom."

"You might be asking too much of him."

"Really? Sam. He's a fucking angel," said Dean. "What about all the crap we have to deal with? Do you think we are doing a good job with all that?"

"No Dean," said Sam. "We are doing a terrible job and it may be worse for him."

"I don't want to argue about it," said Dean, "so just shut it."

"Are you just going to sit around here and stew in your own personal animosities?" said Sam.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm going to do!"

"Maybe we should get on the road, work a case. Just us. Something simple and straightforward."

"You find something?"

"Not too far away, a cursed object and some corpse desecration, maybe even a vengeful spirit. We might even need to burn some bones. Stuff we've done hundreds of times."

"Always fun to dig up and desecrated a corpse," said Dean. “Let’s use a backhoe this time.”

"That's what we Winchester brothers do," said Sam.

"Sam."

"What?"

"No chick flick moments," said Dean. "If I haven't said it enough, I want you to know that you are everything to me. Without you, there’s no me."

"No chick flick moment," said Sam. "I feel the same about you. Without you, I would rather be dead."

"Then why did you keep trying to run away," said Dean.

"Then why do I keep coming back?" said Sam.

"You missed me."

"I missed us."

"Reminds me of a story," said Dean.

"Is this going to be some embarrassing story about when we were kids?" said Sam.

"No, although it could be," Dean smiled at Sam. "It's about two brothers. The younger one took his inheritance and ran away, and spent all his money on booze and hookers."

"Booze and hookers, oh, that sounds like you."

"And when he was broke and hungry, he came home to his big brother," said Dean.

"So, you're saying, I'm the prodigal son," said Sam.

"If the story fits," said Dean.

"I know that story too, the older brother was resentful about his younger brother's return," said Sam.

"Oh, those are just details."

"If I remember right, you came and got me from college. I didn't return on my own," said Sam.

"I remember a different version of the story," said Dean.

"You rewrote the story to suit yourself."

"Of course," Dean grinned. "Our version is different. You came home to your big brother who raised you. Who always loved you and was hurt when you left him and their mostly absent father," said Dean.

"So, when the prodigal son returns home," said Sam, "the older brother throws him a big feast and gives him jewelry and fine clothes?"

"Nah," said Dean. "You’re not that pretentious to get all that fancy stuff."

"Not even some vegan bacon?" said Sam.

"Oh come on, you know that stuff isn't natural. Real men eat pork!"

"I don't think those brothers ate pork at all," said Sam.

"We are still the real meat men."

"That still doesn't mean what you think it means," said Sam.

"Of course it does, real men eat real bacon."

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Dean, I know that I owe everything to you. You raised me when I was little. You've saved my ass so many times. You even went to hell for me," said Sam, "we are bound to each other. Our stories will always be intertwined."

[ ](https://ceh3167.wordpress.com/my-stories/)

"I swear someday your story will have a happy ending, that you will get that big feast, even if I'm not there to share it with you," said Dean.

"I don't want you to end your story so mine can go on," said Sam.

"Our stories will end together then. We will go out together in a blaze of glory: Butch and Sundance," said Dean.

"Dean, this son, just like the prodigal, wanted a life of his own. Someday you will have to cut me loose. Even if it means letting me die. For good."

"Don't you say that Sam. This big brother has grieved for you so many times. Don't put him through it again."

"We always said we wanted a life that wasn’t the life of a hunter," said Sam.

"Someday we will. We will be free of the life, but together."

"We both tried to leave the life. We both failed. We only seem to be together when we are in the life," said Sam.

"I know we can't seem to get free of it, Sammy, but I can't lose you again," said Dean. "Please Sam; don't force me to make a decision like that."


	3. The Luminous Being

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this episode, Castiel prays for his redemption and get an answer from an unexpected person.
> 
> I am also posting my fanfiction story to my personal website, which you can find at the following link: https://ceh3167.wordpress.com/my-stories/a-supernatural-fanfiction/

When Castiel reappeared again, far away, the morning sun shone brightly at the beginning of a cool clear day. The ground was covered in wet snow, and the dark trunks of trees were covered in green lichen. He stood and looked upon a lake. For eons, he could only admire God's creation from a distance. Then he fell to the earth.

For all of its challenges, its life and death struggles, the constant human, mortal, need to eat and urinate, Cas became intensely interested in those tiny earthly, details of life, like the taste of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or the inner thoughts of cats. When he started following the bees, Cas found intricate patterns, like signatures of Chuck on the blades of grass and the leaves of trees; in the ebb and flow of waves and on the shells deep in the sea that no eyes would ever see, to contemplate and admire their exquisite designs. Even though he had only lived among humans for a tiny fraction of his life compared to the expanse of his existence, he now understood how dependant humans were on creation for their lives than he ever did just observing them: on the air and the soil, the sunlight and the ocean, to nourish and cloth them, how intricately their existence is interwoven with the creation that was made just for them and the other life that resided on earth.

Castiel looked around. The ducks that made the lake their home called to their mates. Mothers were followed by their ducklings close behind. The drakes spared with their competitors. Watching them made Castiel feel relaxed. He came here to reflect, even pray. Prayer didn’t always work out well for him. Prayer did bring comfort to humans, so he wouldn’t despise it. Even Dean would pray, reluctantly, to Castiel, if he wanted him to come. Castiel didn’t think anyone in heaven would be listening to him. Not after what he had done. There were too few left now to bother to tend to him.

Facing the lake with its calming blue water, disturbed only by the paddling of the duck’s feet, was a stone bench between two bare trees. Castiel seated himself and looked up. The blue sky was clear; the sun near the eastern horizon was warming. After a few hesitations, stumbling false starts, he spoke to that expanse of blue.

> I know there might be no one listening.
> 
> Who is there left that might hear my prayer?
> 
> I'm having feelings that an angel isn’t supposed to have.
> 
> These feelings are painful and pleasurable.
> 
> I want to experience them, and I fear them.
> 
> I’m confused. A consequence of my disobedience. Yes.
> 
> I believed heaven was wrong, that I was doing the right thing.
> 
> I would disobey and fall for Dean again.
> 
> I regret the harm I’ve done to heaven.
> 
> I grieve the pain I caused on Earth.
> 
> I’ve been arrogant and wrathful.
> 
> I’ve led violence; I’ve caused death.
> 
> I feel ashamed. 
> 
> Who is there left who might hear my prayer?
> 
> I want to make amends for the strife I’ve caused. 
> 
> I don't know who to address my prayer to?
> 
> I hope the right being hears it. If one exists.
> 
> I want to be forgiven. 
> 
> I want to be redeemed. 
> 
> I want to embrace the one I love.

Castiel fell silent. He looked at the wet grass poking through the thin layer of snow, the trampled mess of grass and mud under his feet. His prayer failed. If it had succeeded, what would’ve happened anyway? Would a sign appear? He looked around to check if anything was different. Nothing had changed. He glanced toward the sky. A small puffy cloud formed in the distance. He gave it a hopeful glance, then lowered his eyes back to the water.

The ducks became agitated and paddled for the shoreline anxious to flee from small ripples forming on the surface of the water. Both the drakes and the mother ducks with their ducklings trailing behind them scampered for the snow-filled grass. Overhead, that glowing white disturbance in the sky that Castiel mistook as a cloud in the distance, radiated arcs of light around its center. Castiel recognized the unfolding of wings. Not one set of wings but three sets, six wings. A luminous being came into focus. Even in broad daylight, Castiel saw the trees and the surface of the lake illuminated. He felt its warmth. Castiel jumped to the water’s edge and fell to his knees. He wept. This vision was far more glorious than he deserved. He covered his eyes.

There was only one group of beings that he knew of that bore six wings: the seraphim that guarded God's throne. One pair of wings to cover their eyes to protect them from God's raiding light. The second pair was to fly with, and a third to cover their feet, which is a polite way to say their genitals. Yes, angels have genitals, but they were never quite sure what they were to be used for. When Castiel first discovered the use of his, he was both immensely pleasured and morally scandalized. He discovered many human emotions were duplicitous in the same way, feeling both good and bad at the same time.

In all of his eons of existence, he had never seen one of these seraphim up close before. He dared not look directly at it.

Castiel heard this being speak his name. Its voice was not booming that shattered glass or blew limbs from trees. It was close to his ear, intimate and comforting. The ducks settled down under nearby bushes with their ducklings tucked under their parent’s wings.

"Castiel, don't hide your face. We have heard your prayer," said the being, "and come to bring you into his presence."

Castiel lifted his face to look upon the seraphim. Its luminosity had dimmed to match the warm glow of the sunshine. Another solar body that hung suspended over the gently rippling water. The fish of the lake drew toward the light and swam in circles beneath the glow.

"God wants to see me? Our father?"

"No Castiel. He abandoned heaven and its angels."

Castiel was confused, "But who then?"

He looked down to see the edges of his trench coat soiled under his knees with mud.

"The Lord into whose hands the gift of redemption was placed," said the luminous being, "the least among all his brothers in heaven, and God's only begotten son. The one whose name you bore for a time."

"Emanuel?" Cas stuttered his name, "but no one has seen him for centuries. We all thought he was dead."

"Rise brother and come with me. God has made you one of our own." Surely Emanuel can answer your prayer."

[ ](https://ceh3167.wordpress.com/my-stories/)

Castiel rose to his feet. The luminous being extended his palm outward toward Castiel. He reached back in return. Even though they were some distance apart, Castiel suddenly felt united with his brother, a being immensely older than him, and filled with wisdom and gentleness. Castiel felt a deep sense of peace, held in his being’s embrace, and a faint foreboding of being separated from it. Together, they vanished.

When they reappeared, they stood on a mountain ledge near the summit of the peak. Below, other peaks poked through a layer of white clouds. Each of the summits was snow-capped.

On the ledge, some small animals darted around, covered in thick gray fur. Castiel knew they had to be immensely soft and fluffy.

"Chinchillas," said the luminous being, "not guinea pigs." A smile glowed on its face. Castiel appreciated that moment of angelic silliness and didn’t wonder how this luminous being knew about his guinea pig mistake. He watched as it folded his three pairs of wings.

"This way," the being pointed to a clef in the rock face, not more than a slit, but they had no problem slipping through it.


	4. Finger Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean take Baby and head for the Kansas City area to investigate a new case. On the way, they continue their discussion about brothers in the bible.
> 
> I am also posting my fanfiction story to my personal website, which you can find at the following link:  
> https://ceh3167.wordpress.com/my-stories/a-supernatural-fanfiction/

“We have never come across a legitimate faith healer,” said Dean. “They are either scams or somehow demonic.”

“Or Angels,” said Sam.

“If he’s one of Cas’ kind then why are we even bothering?”

“This case seems too strange to be angels.”

“Oh, and angels aren’t weird, or violent, or destructive, or liars and backstabbers,” said Dean.

“Dean, stop,” said Sam. “This isn’t about Castiel.”

Sam and Dean were heading east on Interstate 70 toward Kansas City. Dean was behind the steering wheel of Baby. The Impala was loaded with all the gear they might need: wooden stakes, witch killing bullets, holy water, demon-killing knives, a small arsenal of handguns, and freshly pressed suits with their fake FBI badges. Sam typed way at the laptop on his knees, looking for any additional information on their case.

“The media reports only two actual cases of healing, and both were children,” said Sam. “This healer also never sought any kind of public recognition.”

“So you think it's either some kind of witchcraft, or someone was making deals with the Devil,” said Dean.

“I suspect people mistook him for a faith healer, and that's why they desecrated his corpse after he died, and cut off his fingers. Whoever did it, probably thought they could use them as some kind of magic object or thought they might work like some kind of saint’s bones,” said Sam.

“Sounds like some real selfish sons of bitches,” said Dean.

“Since they only took the fingers, they must have thought any power he had resided in his hands, or they were pressed for time and could only get what was easy to cut off.”

“I’m guessing someone at the funeral home did it,” said Dean. “What did they use to cut the fingers off with?”

“Some kind of bolt cutters.”

“Bolt cutters? Maybe it wasn’t an inside job.” 

Dean suddenly swerved the Impala to miss an animal that darted out on the roadway, throwing Sam against the car door. The dog dashed back into the roadside brush.

“You almost hit that dog,” said Sam.

“That wasn't a dog that was a coyote,” said Dean.

“You really should slow down,” said Sam. “You don't want to attract the attention of the highway patrol.”

Dean pushed down on Baby’s accelerator speeding up even faster.

“Stop griping at me Sam,” said Dean. “You know I always drive too fast, and Baby loves to fly.”

Dean turned up the volume on the car stereo and beat out the drumline of _Kashmir_ on the Impala’s steering wheel. Dean sang the lyrics in an exaggerated falsetto, swinging his head side to side.

> _Oh, let the sun beat down upon my face_
> 
> _Stars fill my dream_
> 
> _I'm a traveler of both time and space_
> 
> _To be where I have been_
> 
> _Sit with elders of the gentle race_
> 
> _This world has seldom seen_
> 
> _They talk of days for which they sit and wait_
> 
> _All will be revealed_

Sam grabbed the dashboard as Baby weaved down the interstate to Dean’s jam. He finally gave in to Dean’s contagious exuberance and joined the singing, moaning along with Robert Plant’s vocals. Sam knew to let his brother dissipate his anxious energy through his music and aggressive driving. When the song finished, Sam could lower the volume and resume their conversation.

“I was thinking about your story about the brothers,” said Sam.

“It's a parable of Jesus you know,” said Dean.

“Yes, I know.”

“So what were you thinking?”

“They aren’t the only brothers that show up in the Bible,” said Sam.

“So you are a Bible scholar now?” said Dean.

“I was just noticing that there is always one good and dutiful son, like you and Dad, and the other son is usually a screw-up,” said Sam.

“I thought we already concluded that you are the screw-up,” said Dean with a big laugh.

“Funny,” said Sam. “Then how did you end up with the mark of Cain on his arm? And I damn near got killed.”

“We already did the Cain and Abel bit.”

“There are also Jacob and Esau,” said Sam.

“He’s the hairy one?”

“Yes, Esau. They are twins, but Esau was born first.”

“And his little brother tricked him out of his birthright,” said Dean.

“Are you trying to insinuate something about me?” said Sam.

“No, Sam,” said Dean. “If anyone took away our birthright it was dad when he raised us to be hunters.”

“I'm surprised you know that story,” said Sam.

“Hey, I listen sometimes. So where are you going with this Bible talk about brothers?” said Dean.

“We aren’t the only brothers that Chuck has been messing with. He seems to have a thing for fratricide.” 

“Mister smarty pants and his big words. You learn that in college?”

“And then there are Michael and Lucifer,” said Sam.

“Who are safely dead or locked away,” said Dean.

“Unless Michael and our little half-brother escaped the cage when Chuck threw open the doors of hell,” said Sam.

Dean went silent for a moment. The fate of Adam was a sore spot between them that they avoided talking about.

“God always plays favorites to one or the other of the brothers,” said Sam.

“To the younger ones,” said Dean.

“Not always,” said Sam.

“Of course he does,” said Dean. “Cain gets cursed, Esau gets screwed, and Jesus was obviously Chuck’s favorite.”

“Both Abel and Jesus got killed,” said Sam.

“Are you saying that Chuck wants you to be killed,” said Dean.

“Maybe, and I think he wants you to do it,” said Sam.

“I won't do it!” said Dean. “I will die before I would ever hurt you.”

“You might not have a choice,” said Sam.

“The father did welcome the youngest son home,” said Dean.

“That was Jesus' story.”

“So?”

“Chuck had him killed,” said Sam. 

“You never know,” said Dean. “He could pop up unexpectedly someday.”

“What makes you think that?” said Sam.

“I didn't think angels were real until one dragged me out of hell,” said Dean.

Sam was silent for a while then he said, “I’m the one who had the demon blood in me.”

“Yeah well, Lucifer was Chuck's favorite,” said Dean.

“What’s that supposed to mean? said Sam.

“I don’t know, can I read God’s mind?

At this time of the year, the Kansas landscape was dry and barren. Everything was brown and flat in every direction. The only things that moved, other than an occasional car going in the other direction, or the occasional wildlife along the roadside, was the serene swaying of the winter wheat in farm fields that stretched for miles.

“Didn't Jesus have a brother?” Dean suddenly asked.

“Yes, James.”

“Older or younger?”

“Depends on which Church tradition you follow,” said Sam. “He is either an older stepbrother, one of Joseph's kids from a previous marriage, or a younger half-brother with Mary.”

“Which do you think?” said Dean.

“Probably an older stepbrother.”

“So you want to be Jesus?”

“He does suit me better.”

“Well, you do have the hair.” 

“And the beard too, if you would stop complaining about it,” said Sam.

“It’s a nightmare on your face,” said Dean.

“I would keep it if I didn’t have to listen to you bitch about it all the time.”

“I’m not going to stop. It’s a monstrosity,” said Dean. “We hunt monsters; we don’t grow them on our face.”

“I still think it looked good.”

“Right,” said Dean. “You ain’t no Jesus. How many STDs have you had now: clap, syph, genital herpes?”

“I never actually had genital herpes,” said Sam.

“Don't matter,” said Dean. “Neither of us are candidates for Son of God.”

“That love your enemies standard, is pretty hard to live up to,” said Sam.

“Especially when your enemies are demons and monsters trying to kill you,” said Dean.

[ ](https://ceh3167.wordpress.com/my-stories/)The vast expanses of the wheat started giving way to the outer edges of suburbia. More off-ramps became available for roadside dinners and cheap hotel rooms. Dean made note of them out of habit as they passed them by and felt satisfied that they no longer needed to stop. They now had a home of their own in the bunker, someplace where Dean could make a nest and have his own room. Sam went back to searching his laptop.

“We're getting pretty close; you come up with any new info?” said Dean.

“There is this bizarre case of a healing that might be connected,” said Sam. “A blind woman's sight inexplicably returned to her after she was blind for twenty years.”

“Why would that be a case for us?”

“After her sight returned, she murdered her husband of over fifty years. She stabbed him to death with a kitchen knife.”

“Maybe she saw how ugly her husband had got,” Dean joked.

Sam gave Dean one of those: you are being such an asshole looks.

“You think it might be connected to the bones?” said Dean.

“Might be,” said Sam. “They are near each other and happened within a week.”

“We could check with the local police,” said Dean.

“Who are we going to be this time,” said Sam.

“Um,” said Dean, pulling down the sides of his mouth. “I think agents Plant and Page this time.”

“Classics,” Sam laughed.

“Got anything else weird in this crazy world of ours?”

“There is something else, but I don’t think it’s connected,” said Sam. “Something happened in a northside neighborhood in Springfield, Missouri. Something blasted out all the windows in a one-mile radius, but there is no evidence of any explosion, and no one heard anything except their windows suddenly shattering.”

“Ok, that’s odd. Why should we be involved?” said Dean.

“According to news reports, the epicenter seems to be a church,” said Sam. “Its stain glass windows were blown out, but there is no other damage.”

“So, you think Cas might be involved? Taking out revenge on a church because I yelled at him?” said Dean.

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s throwing a fit because you spurned him and practically threw him out,” said Sam.

“You talk like he is my boyfriend.”

“Well, isn’t he?”

“Shut up bitch.”

“Bite me jerk.”


	5. Life Giving Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this episode, the Seraphim escorts Castiel to the mountain top hideaway of Emanuel, where Cas raises him from his sleep.
> 
> I am also posting my fanfiction story to my personal website, which you can find at the following link:  
> https://ceh3167.wordpress.com/my-stories/a-supernatural-fanfiction/

The Seraph placed his hand on a slab of rock that blocked the narrow entryway. With a firm push, he easily slid it aside forming an entryway into a modest cave under the mountain's peak. The chamber was warm and humid in contrast to the cold of the summit and dimly lit by torches and oil lamps. Castiel recognized the smell of holy oil from Jerusalem and knew those flames had been burning for a very long time.

The walls and floor of the room were polished smooth reflective stone. The ceiling was carved with angel proofing sigils. Castiel examined the walls more carefully. He saw more sigils glowing faintly in the smooth polished stone. If the luminous being had not brought Cas here, he could never have found this location on his own.

The luminous being took the form of an elderly bearded man. Cas could see he wasn't inhabiting a human vessel. The Seraph faintly glowed and was semi-transparent. He slid the rock over the entrance ceiling them inside the enclosure.

"Our Lord, Emanuel, sleeps but expects your arrival." The Seraph gestured toward a large elevated structure that occupied the rear of the room. "You have his permission to rouse him from his slumber."

"If he sleeps, how then does he know of my presence or hear my prayer?" asked Cas.

"We communicate through dreams and visions; he hears the prayers of his own through faith. The Lord sleeps to protect and sustain his body through the passage of time," said the Seraph.

"How do I wake him?"

"He knows you have arrived, simply raise him from his life-giving waters." The Seraph gave Cas a final smile and disappeared in a warm puff of light.

In the recess of the space, there arose an altar with smooth sides sloping upward toward an elevated platform. The front was terraced with steps. At the top rested a basin from which water overflowed and streamed down the terraced front into a pool at its base. The water possessed a faint shimmer that it retained from the glow that emanated from the basin.

Castiel approached the edge of the pool that lay sunken into the floor of the cave. Swimming in the water, were small white fish that perplexed Cas. What were fish doing here? The ripples in the water came to the toes of his shoes. He noticed mud still clung to the edges of his trench coat and feared it might dirty the water. Cas slipped off his coat and laid it aside on one of the smooth ramps that ascended towards the illuminated basin.

Castiel felt a sense of reverence as he approached the basin. He searched his memories to confirm what little he knew about this figure. He knew the gospel stories, but the angels put little confidence in them. At the time of Emanuel's earthy life, Castiel was assigned to his garrison, primarily, on demon watch.

When he reached the top of the altar, he looked into the basin and beheld this Emanuel. Cas gazed at the sleeping figure suspended in the luminescent waters. The body was perfectly still and didn't appear to be breathing, yet in the warm water, the skin of the figure appeared soft and supple. This was not a dead body but one suspended in peaceful sleep. Faint swirls in the water arose from beneath the figure and created currents that pulled his hair in waves before the water flowed over the threshold of the basin. The body was clean-shaven and completely naked.

Castiel knelt beside the basin. Before reaching into the water, he solemnly addressed the figure.

"Forgive me for disturbing your sleep. My name is Castiel, and I’m an angel of the Lord. Actually, a fallen one. I feel lost and hopeless and called out for help. A Seraph answered and brought me to you." Castiel hesitated. He only knew this figure from the traditions of the Church. He seemed quite far from the duties and concerns of this fallen angel, but Castiel longed to made amends for his actions and prove his worth to his beloved. "I've come to consult your wisdom. The stories of your life, the appearance of your Seraph, brought me to your presence to ask: how can I be redeemed?"

The figure in the water stirred. His arms and legs stretched; his head rolled on its neck as if awakening from slumber. The right hand lifted from the water and reached for the edge of the basin. Castiel slid his arm under the figure's shoulders to help him set up. Emanuel bent over the edge of the basin and expelled the water that filled his lungs in a series of short coughs through his mouth and nose. He took his first breath in a long time.

Castiel touched Emanuel's back and was astonished by how smooth and warm it was before he realized that he expected to find whip marks there. The rising figure grasped with his left hand the edge of the basin and pulled himself from the water. Drops fell from his emerging torso and limbs into the warm water. The figure lifted himself over the lip of the basin and slid onto the terraced steps that guided the abundance of water down to the pool below.

Castiel admired the smooth glistening body, the supple legs and arms, and discovered splendor in the long brown hair clinging to the figure’s face and neck. Cas discreetly inverted his eyes from glancing at Emanuel's posterior or genitals.

This Son of God lifted himself into a seated position. Castiel came around the basin to help him raise himself, wetting his own clothes and shoes. Emanuel remained silent before opening his eyes.

Cas seated himself on the step right below Emanuel, not caring if his clothes became drenched. He kept his silence waiting for Emanuel to speak first.

Finally, he gave Castiel a friendly smile and asked, "What is it that you seek, oh, noble angel of the Lord?"

Cas stood and stepped down several terraces so he could address the figure face to face.

"I seek redemption, my brother." Castiel looked down at his sodden shoes and pants, "but I don't know how to find it," he said before raising his eyes to see Emanuel's face.

"We can speak of it, but I have no authority in the realm of the angels. I rely solely on the Seraphim's charity and good graces. They have taken compassion on me."

"Would they take compassion on a fallen angel like me?"

"Perhaps, if you gain their trust."

Emanuel rose to a standing position. Castiel saw that something wasn't right, but refused to contemplate it.

"I'm cold and unclothed, will you cover my nakedness?"

[ ](https://ceh3167.wordpress.com/my-stories/)

Cas remembered his trench coat and retrieved it from the base of the pool. He waded back up the terraces and placed it around Emanuel. After Cas slid the coat over Emanuel's arms and shoulders covering him, he saw the mud soiling the garment.

"It's dirty," Cas said, reaching to take the coat back. A sense of shame overcame him.

"I've experienced dirt before. All of us, of the Earth, ultimately came from it and will return to it."

"What if it pollutes the water?"

"Fear not, the fish will cleanse it."

Emanuel stood with bare feet in the clear luminous water, clutching Castiel’s trench coat around him for warmth.


	6. That Ain't No Rabbit's Foot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean gather the basic fact of the case regarding a unlikely faith healer. 
> 
> I am also posting my fanfiction story to my personal website, which you can find at the following link:  
> https://ceh3167.wordpress.com/my-stories/a-supernatural-fanfiction/

Dean parked the Impala in the small parking area of the Hopewell Funeral Home. Several parking spaces near the front door were blocked off with sawhorses and yellow tape. Sam and Dean emerged from Baby, wearing pressed blue suits with their fake FBI badges ready. They looked sidelong at the barrier and took note of it as a possible clue. That was until a wild goose charged at them aggressively honking with its wings and neck stretched. A greeter from the funeral home rushed out the front door to usher them away from the antagonized gander. The bird seemed particularly offended by Dean's nonchalance, nipping at Dean's waist and trousers. Dean held up his hands, trying to soothe the bird's ruffled feathers by telling it, "Whoa there big boy, I'm not looking for a fight."

The usher pointed out to the brothers its mate's nest tucked under a bush near a window, where a female goose rested atop her clutch of eggs.

"He's been chasing off visitors all week," the man chuckled. Even in his formal black suit, tie and shoes, he still looked more like a shady businessman than an undertaker.

"See even geese know what a ladies man I am," said Dean.

Sam dismissed Dean's wisecrack and admired the pair. The stately goose warmed her eggs and kept a watchful eye turning her head slowing back and forth on her gracefully arched neck. The gander thrust his head and neck forward, shaking his wings and spreading his black feathers, to thwart anyone who might disturb his mate. Sam admired their beauty and commitment.

Dean, on the other hand, got down to business and pulled out his FBI badge.

"I'm agent Plant, and this is my partner agent Page." Dean elbowed Sam in the ribs. Sam came to attention and produced his own badge.

"We want to ask some questions about a recent funeral," said Dean.

"The Bishop funeral," said the usher. "I figured you guys would show up sooner or later."

"What makes you say that?" said Dean.

"Have you been down to the cemetery yet?"

"That's our next stop," said Dean. "Can we talk to the funeral director?"

"Yes, of course, come on in."

They were ushered into a meeting room with sentimental artwork on the wall and a display cabinet filled with boxes and urns.

"Promise me," said Dean. "If you outlive me, you will see that I get a hunter's funeral."

"Of course man," said Sam. "And you will do the same for me."

The door opened and a large rotund man entered. He wore the same black suit, tie, and shoes. Both brothers noticed, assuming it was the home's dress code.

"So the FBI wants to know about the Bishop funeral. I'll tell you what happened," said the director. He's slapped a file down on the table and seated himself. His belly filled the whole girth of the chair.

"Mr. Bishop was single. I was told he was one of those, you know, homosexuals." The director said that word in an unappealing, derisive way. He shrugged. "Business is business," he's said. "I just bury them."

"We don't need a commentary," said Sam.

"He seems to be an only child. His only relative was his mother who is an elderly widow." He flipped through his file. "She had an insurance policy on him. It paid off, no problem. We had to take special precautions, because, he had one of those 'gay diseases'. We follow all industry standards in cases like this."

The director gave Sam and Dean a smarmy wink with a click of his tongue.

"We want to know about the desecration of the body," said Dean, making his impatience with the director transparent.

"Yes, that." The director fumbled with his speech. "We adhere to the highest standards of the profession. That employee has been fired and placed under arrest by the local sheriff. I don't know if they charged him. He was released on bail."

"We will want to know his name and address," said Sam.

"What we really want to know is what happened," said Dean.

"I don't prepare the bodies. We have technicians who do that work. I didn't see anything."

"You were present at the service?" said Sam. He could see Dean was getting irritated with this flabby shyster.

"Yes, I was leading the service, playing some comforting music, saying some standard prayers," he said with a faint practiced sympathy. He shook his head in a gesture of pity that made Dean roll his eyes. "It was sad; only a few people even showed up for the service."

"Who were they?" said Sam, while giving Dean a look to keep his cool.

"His elderly mother and a colored woman with a kid," he said. "They sat together and talked and hugged. A few others came in for a little while. You could tell they were one of his kind."

"Oh, cut the crap," said Dean. "He was gay, so what, me and my--partner get mistaken as a gay couple all the time. It's not that big of a deal."

The director seemed taken aback by Dean's outburst. His demeanor changed, and the director dropped his coy insinuations.

"Just tell us what happened at the service," said Sam.

The director flinched. Sam's tone was harsher than he intended.

"As I said, everything was going fine. The old lady and the black woman were chatting, and some friends came and looked at the body and left."

"Do you know who the woman was?" said Sam.

Dean stood behind Sam and scowled at the director. Dean's glare broke the director into the babbling simpering fool he was.

"I don't know. I saw she's signed the guestbook as Eva."

"So what caused the disturbance?" said Dean. His voice growled.

"Some crazy folks got wind of the service and burst into the sanctuary. We didn't publicize it in the media at the request of the police. We really tried to keep it private, but people still found out."

"What about the body?" said Dean. He stared into the director’s eyes.

"A small group of people rushed in and started attacking the body. They were praying and carrying on. The old woman was crying. Eva shouted at them, wagging her finger and scolding them the way black people do."

Dean kept his scowl going.

"Then one of them pulled the gloves off his hands. I didn't pay much attention to the gloves, or why the technician put them on him. You know, prosthetic gloves we use for people who have lost fingers in accidents to make them look whole. That's when we found the fingers were chopped off."

"Is that it?" asked Sam.

"We called the police to escort the rabble out. The police took pictures and questioned the staff. They arrested him later for corpse desecration. Here, I brought you his name and address. I think he's under house arrest. That is all I know agents," he finally blubbered.

"Mind if we look around?" said Dean, "and check your workroom?"

"No problem, that's fine, but there is a corpse back there we are working on."

"We've seen dead bodies before," grumbled Dean.

"Some were in pretty bad shape," said Sam. "We'll be fine."

The funeral director showed the way with his pudgy penguin walk and left them alone with all the tools of the business.

Sam and Dean took their time examining the scalpels, saws, clamps, and clippers. They even took a peek at the fresh corpse under a sheet. Sam found clothes, cosmetics, makeup, and wigs. They looked into the overpriced coffins with satin lining waiting for a corpse to be plopped into them.

"Remember," said Dean. "I want a hunter's funeral, not this."

~*~

Parked cars crowed the cemetery. The officers of the town's police department issued parking tickets and disorderly citations to people swarming the cemetery. Dean drove through the chaotic tussle looking for a space to park the Impala. As soon as Dean slid baby into a slot, an officer came to move them along with a friend citation.

Sam and Dean were ready with their fake FBI badges, and the impressed local officer pointed them the way, "over there, that way, follow the crowd." Then he returned to his duties of shooing away the gawkier, ghouls, and those with prurient interests. Charlatans and mediums tried to make contact with Brent's departed soul, while those desperate for some cure dug into the grave soil for magic to take home and apply to their ailing or sell to the gullible. You have to give them credit for hawking the real stuff, not just any dirt they dug up from their own backyards.

"Well, Son of a Bitch," said Dean as they trudged their way through the throng.

The crowd massed around an unmarked gravesite, an open slot along a row of headstones. Workers pushed people back from where they were installing a cage around the barren patch of ground. The soil of the hole was a foot below the ground level of the surrounding graves. People crushed the green grass flat underfoot wearing it away as they fought to grab handfuls of dirt from the grave before the fencing could be erected. Some of the crowd jumped into the hole and rolled in the dirt as if it were the pool at Bethesda. As soon as one was pulled out, another leaped in.

Some of the people were haggard cancer patients; others bore crippled arms and legs who dragged themselves to the edge. Those more nimble ones grabbed a handful of dirt and darted away into the crowd just to be tripped or punched and their dirt seized or knocked to the ground. Further off, pennants and placates, those who couldn't penetrate the rabble, mourned and prayed for healings, swaying back and forth, some on their knees, and moaning for attention from the divine host. Officers shoved venerators away from the hole as the fence was dropped into place.

Sam noticed a news crew lingering nearby waiting for its broadcast cue. Dean noted that the officers were unarmed, probably a good choice, if a flight of self-righteousness overtook some of the victims and they tried to seize a gun and press their claims to a miracle by force.

"Shall we join the horde?" said Sam.

"No," said Dean. "I don't want to get my suit dirty." Sam was surprised by the amount of cynicism he let creep into his voice.

"Do you really think they are that unworthy?" said Sam, "to get their miracle?"

"Do you really believe there is a miracle to be had," said Dean. "What do they think the fingers are? Some kind of lucky rabbit's foot?"

"Of course I believe in miracles," said Sam.

"When was the last time you saw a real bonafide a miracle?" said Dean.

"Dean, we see them every day with Castiel. They don't. Have you become so jaded that you just take it for granted that Cas will come and heal your wounds and mend your broken bones?"

"Well, this dead body is no angel, and these people are fools if they think a handful of dirt will cure their cancer."

As they watched, the workers finally managed to drop a large chain link cage over the top of the plot and began to pour cement from buckets to weigh it down.

"Good luck with that," Dean mumbled to himself.

More people had swelled the crowd. The calls of the mob against the officers became more vicious and sanctimonious.

"I think we've seen what we came to see," said Dean.

"A reed shaken by the wind," said Sam.

"What?

"Nothing,' said Sam. "I was trying to be ironic."

One of the reporters had gone live with her network's special report. They drifted closer to see what information they could glean from her reporting, making sure to stay behind the camera.

The reporter's story was infected with the usual hyperbole and vapid exaggeration, comprising such utterances as apocalyptic, miraculous, and mass hypnotic delusion thrown about, but told them nothing more than they could deduce themselves.

"The word is out," said Sam. "This place will be overrun."

"We better get out of here before we are blocked in," said Dean.

They did find out the next stage of Brent's after-death journey of his body. The town's council just voted to ask for an emergency court order to exhume the body and cremated it.

"These folks won't be happy about that," said Dean.

Sam looked at the petitioners kneeling on the ground around the cage, their fingers looped through the chain link, weeping and begging.

"There will be a run on sacramental ash on eBay," said Sam.

"Rowena would have loved this," said Dean.

Sam remained silent.

"Hey, man," said Dean. "I'm sorry to bring that up. Big brother should keep his pie hole shut."

"It's OK, Dean. She wouldn't have any use for grave dirt. Her magic was much more powerful than that."

"But she would have loved this spectacle."

~*~

"The 'technician,' as the funeral director described him, lived in a squat brick duplex. He answered the door with his ankle bracelet attached to his leg. The brothers displayed their badges.

"Agents Plant and Page, FBI."

"I've already been interviewed by the authorities. They told me to shut up and be quiet," he said.

"We want some follow-up information for our investigation," said Dean.

"Fine, come in. I don't want the neighbors spying on me. Have you seen what they're reporting on TV?" he said. "Thank God they've said nothing about me yet."

"Because they would mob you for the artifacts?" said Sam.

"Absolutely," he said, "but I don't have them."

"We want to know what you did with them?" said Dean. "The rest we don't care about."

"What?"

"The fingers you severed from the corpse, what did you do with them?" said Sam. "Everything else is beyond the scope of our investigation and being handled by local authorities."

[ ](https://ceh3167.wordpress.com/my-stories/)

"They told me not to say anything to anyone. That they wouldn't prosecute me if I kept quiet."

"Tell us what you know," said Dean, "and we won't open a Federal case."

"Some man came to me one night before I went to work. We work on the bodies mostly at night. This man told me this one corpse had been transported to the funeral home, this Bishop fellow, and he wanted me to retrieve some fingers for him. I didn't know why he wanted them. I guess I know now. He gave me tools to use, some bolt cutters, the wrong kind of tools to use incidentally. I'm trained as a professional undertaker and have a license to prove that," he said.

"Why did you do it?" said Sam,

"He offered ten-thousand cash, and we agreed to meet the next day. I used the cutters, severed the fingers, and put prosthetic gloves on the hands so no one would notice. Then I delivered the goods, returned the tools, and he gave me the cash. That was it."

"You still have the cash?" asked Sam.

"No, the authorities seized it."

"Why did you accept?" said Sam.

"I got a lazy girlfriend and two kids," he said. "I'm drowning in child support debt."

"Did he say what he wanted the fingers for," said Dean.

"Nope, not a word."

After they got a description of the man, Sam and Dean left the miserable sap and climbed back into the Impala.

"So what do you think?" said Sam.

"We need to find out who wanted those fingers and why. Who was willing to pay some loser to get a hold of them?" said Dean.

"Where to next?" said Sam.

"Let's visit our miracle lady, and see if they really are connected," said Dean.

"Now we really are doing the FBI's job," said Sam. "We're about to cross a state line."


	7. The Real Emanuel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emanuel (Jesus) and Castiel have a long talk about the nature of redemption. 
> 
> I am also posting my fanfiction story to my personal website, which you can find at the following link:  
> https://ceh3167.wordpress.com/my-stories/a-supernatural-fanfiction/

“Here is your raiment,” said Emanuel. “I have clothed myself in a garment provided by the Seraphim.”

He held out the trench coat to Cas.

“It has been cleaned and the soiling removed.”

Cas took the coat and put it on. It smelled faintly of myrrh.

“You were away for only a few moments,” said Cas.

“Oh, the Seraphim are quite efficient,” said Emanuel with a wink and a smirk.

Emanuel had guided Castiel into a chamber lit by a single lamp hanging from a stand next to an ornately carved chair upholstered with gold and purple fabrics before Emanuel retreated into a darkened corridor. Castiel surveyed this chamber. It too had the same smooth walls and floors with the same angel warding embedded into the stone. Cas surmised this was how he managed to remain hidden for so long, but why did the warding not affect the luminous Seraph? He peered into the dark recesses of the space but could only make out an enormous object shadowed in the darkness against the rear wall of the room. Cas considered using his angel light to illuminate the space but felt that might be an improper intrusion into Emanuel’s abode. Emanuel reappeared moments later with Castiel’s coat.

[ ](https://ceh3167.wordpress.com/my-stories/)

Emanuel held his trench coat as Cas slid it back on. This strange figure dressed in a radiant white cloak and tunic observed Castiel’s curious attention to the ornate chair.

“Do you like it?” said Emanuel.

Castiel nodded his approval and wondered what kind of man this was. He had a reputation for being a fiery preacher with a sharp tongue and special care for the poor and vulnerable. Cas had imagined him as a large man with a booming voice and unkempt hair and beard. This man was soft-spoken and his voice high-pitched. His face was smooth and hairless, yet there was still the long soft hair on his head. The wink and smirk he gave Cas were a complete surprise.

“When I was in heaven, it was much nicer.”

They both stood silently looking at the chair.

“In heaven, it had its own imminence, and I was proud to sit on it,” said Emanuel. “The Father, he gave me my own little throne to the right of his.”

Emanuel ascended the two steps to his throne and seated himself. This single lamp threw one side of his face into shadow.

“Come up with me. You are an elder brother,” Emanuel said to Cas.

“I don’t understand your invitation,” said Cas. “You are God’s only begotten Son.”

“Among all my brothers and sisters, the angels, God’s divine creations, I am the least of them. So come and sit with me as an equal.”

Emanuel gestured to a bench that suddenly appeared beside him with its own lamp and stand to illuminate the seat. Like the chair, it too was ornately carved and upholstered with the same rich gold and purple fabrics.

“Surely this bench is more comfortable than the one at the side of the lake.”

A faint smile fluttered around the corners of Emanuel’s mouth and cheeks before he gestured with his eyes to come and sit already.

“Don’t be so surprised when I follow my own advice.”

Castiel scanned his memory of the gospels, locating the passage in question, and then understood the reference. He rose to the seat of honor and settled himself.

“Why do you honor me in this way,” asked Cas. “I’m certainly not worthy of your hospitality.”

“If one cannot feast with friends and share their good company, then there will be few joys of life,” said Emanuel. “You came to me with a problem. I will not let you leave me until you have a satisfactory answer.”

“Why did you respond to me?” asked Cas. “Why did you send the Seraph to me? I’m an angel, not a human, and a fallen angel at that, fallen and broken.”

“I didn’t send the Seraph to you. They brought you to me,” said Emanuel. “What authority do I have to command angels? God ordered that they should protect me; that they were forbidden from doing me any harm, but I don’t control them.”

“Then why did they come to me when I called out?”

“They responded to your petition because they recognized you as one of them now. When God raised you to the status of Seraph, you became one of their ranks. They responded to you as one of their own.”

“Why did they bring me to you?”

“They connect me with the redemption of humans; maybe they thought I might have an answer for you,” said Emanuel.

“Do you?”

“I do not think I do. My redemption failed.”

“What do you mean? You are revered around the world by humans.” Cas was astonished.

“Has my presence or my long absence made any difference in their lives? Are sinners any less sinful or the righteous any more virtuous? Have I really accomplished anything more than widespread arrogance or self-serving vanity? You have lived among humans. What is your observation?”

“I know they are flawed. I know some care and some don’t. I know the Winchester brothers put their lives on the line every day for each other and their fellow humans,” said Castiel. “And I know I have failed them over and over.”

“Is that why you feel like you need to be redeemed?” said Emanuel.

“Yes, I feel as if I have lost my way. That my best intentions have failed; I'm no longer worthy of care or attention.”

“Redemption doesn’t mean the same thing now that it did in my time.” Emanuel mused.

“I've been around for a long time. I know how things have changed,” said Cas. “I remember when God gave the laws at Sinai. All the angels were in awe.”

“So you know that redemption was a legal obligation to other family members to pay something to get property or slaves released,” said Emanuel. “Firstborn males, both humans and animals were considered the property of God and had to be redeemed by making an offering or payment.”

“I now consider that to be a barbaric custom,” said Cas.

“It was one of the Father's demands. Why then do you spurn it?”

“Our Father has lost his credibility with many of the angels, and humans too.”

“I am not surprised,” said Emanuel. “He has lost patience with his creation and became obsessive in his storytelling.”

“What do you mean?” said Castiel. “I know that God writes the fates of humans. I know that the Winchester brothers struggle mightily against God's manipulations of their lives as they fight for their own free will.”

“Your friends must possess strong wills. Most of my followers prefer to give themselves up to hopelessness and hysteria. They call it God’s will and surrender themselves to it, even if it destroys their lives.”

“You sound cynical,” said Castiel. “That it’s not something I would have expected from you.” His voice became grave with a note of scorn in it.

Emanuel glanced at Cas, making momentary eye contact before looking back into the darkness.

“My father made me the redeemer, the sacrifice,” said Emanuel. “But the humans did not respond the way that God wanted them to. They became selfish. I suppose God forgot to consult his omniscience. In my time, we believed that the Father was nearby, right there in the temple, and it was always possible for God to redeem his own people even if we were disobedient and strayed from his laws.”

“My people, the ones who said they followed me, forsook the community,” continued Emanuel, “for secret knowledge and magical ritual. While others came to wallow in self-disgust and denounce others for wrongdoing out of their misguided sense of personal righteousness. I blame that interloper Paul.”

“I remember him. That was the last time I was on earth until now. I thought he was a seedy character,” said Cas.

“That Paul guy, he heard voices,” said Emanuel. “They were not mine. He was wracked with guilt. He heard what he wanted to hear. He heard a message that eased his shame. He martyred himself to feel redeemed. And that thorn in his side? What do you think it was? Or maybe we should say: who it was? It wasn't Peter, but some young man that he agonized over to both embrace and cast away.

Castiel's jaw fell open and his eyes widened. Emanuel shrugged.

“Father felt he needed to freshen up my story,” said Emanuel, “to take it in a new direction. Sometimes, I wonder if he meant to sabotage me all along. With this new doctrine--not one of my own making, Father set in motion a new ideal that invited my followers to think of themselves as monsters.”

“As the distance between how humans saw God and themselves became wider,” continued Emanuel, “the more denigrated the Christians saw themselves and called out to God to redeem them. Christian leaders became self-serving. It got so bad at times, that my followers, who ignored most of what I said, came up with the revolting idea that to be redeemed, you had to consider yourself a monster. I never taught that. I said people should be responsible for their lives and behaviors. I never said they were monsters. Have you fell prey to that scheme?” 

“I was a monster,” said Cas. “I even had monsters inside of me one time. I tried to become God, but I really only destroyed myself, and unleashed real monsters onto the world--those Leviathans.” Cas paused for a moment. “I spent time in purgatory for that.”

“The Leviathans in purgatory are not the most impressive of the beasts that God made,” said Emanuel.

Cas scrunched his forehead and gave Emanuel an incredulous look.

“What did you discover in purgatory?”

“I discovered.” Cas broke off. “I tried to help my friend who was with me by running away and hiding from him. I thought it was unsafe for him to be in my company. I was trying to protecting him, but he wanted to be with me. Fight the Leviathans alongside me. I thought he might return my feelings, but it only led to more misunderstandings. He blamed himself for my failures.” Cas sighed. “I got him out, and I stayed behind. I fought real monsters there until someone took pity on me and pulled me out. Pity I didn't deserve.”

“Somebody thought you were worth saving,” Said Emanuel.

“The remnants of heaven were just using me as a pawn on their skirmishes. I had abandoned the battles and was following the bees.”

Emanuel gave Cas a perplexed glance but didn't say anything more.

“I was trying to atone for all the devastation I had caused by becoming a pacifist. I see now that I was a failure.”

“Then I think you are well on your way to redemption.”

“I don't feel like it. I don't feel like I have done enough.”

“Castiel, Just what do you think redemption is?”

“I don't know. I don't think I can do it on my own. Do I need someone to die on my behalf to be redeemed?”

“Over the centuries, I have come to the conclusion that such a demand would be a barbaric idea. Honestly, I too have come to scorn that behavior. It seems that even Father has abandoned that story line. He was wrong to ask that if me.”

Castiel's face took on an expression of disappointment. He mumbled to himself “I wouldn't have wanted that anyway.”

“Redemption should not be considered Magic,” said Emanuel. “I tried to teach my followers that the Kingdom of God is around them, even inside of them. It becomes real through their actions and choices, through their responses to others, and their care and compassion, but they just wanted magic and miracles. They wanted to be saved without doing anything on their own. They wanted all their problems magically solved. Instead of giving, they wanted to receive. They became selfish and self-serving. The ones for whom redemption was created, they refused to ask, and those with trivial concerns begged for it.”

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Castiel just shook his head.

“You have observed the humans over the centuries.”

“I used to think that humans were boring. Their sex was boring; their wars were boring. They were tedious and uninteresting, and yet we were tasked with watching over them, from a distance, while God wrote their fate. It seems to me maddeningly ridiculous.”

“Humans are maddeningly ridiculous. I am also one of them. I am obligated to forgive them even though they frustrate me to no end.” Emanuel paused and mused for a moment, then said, “Forgiveness is a gift you give to others. Redemption is an act you perform on your own. They go together. Castiel, I wanted humans to be so much better! Nothing I did improved them. My followers became even more selfish than the people I was born from. The Church got this impossibly misguided idea that the road to redemption was through broken and bleeding bodies. Not just mine. That would be bad enough, but also their own as well.

“I healed the wounded bodies of the brothers,” said Castiel. “I've seen the dead bodies of the victims of monsters, the possessed, and the vessels of angels who died in the service of heaven.”

“The image of the Father that is given up to save others,” said Emanuel mournfully.

The Son of God and the Angle of Heaven fell silent and gazed into the darkness that surrounded them, with only the oil lamps to illuminate their meditative faces and far away thoughts. 


	8. The Bishop Moves Diagonally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean continue their investigation of the faith healer and learn his backstory. And a fact about Sam that shocks Dean.

Over on the Missouri side, in one of those fancy homes along Ward Parkway, Louise lived with her husband of nearly fifty years. He was a retired banker, and they were flush with cash. Sam gleaned this information from media reports, including her current whereabouts. So the brothers didn't stop at their posh home with the neoclassical colonnade that presented its front face to the residents of this fashionable neighborhood. They continued south to one of those Kansas City suburbs and the expensive nursing home where she now resided.

They presented their badges at the reception desk and were escorted to a community area where the residents quietly watched TV, played board games, and chatted about dead husbands. Most of the seniors seemed to be women. Four old people at one table had a boisterous game of Sorry going.

"I thought old people were supposed to play bridge," said Dean, as the brothers sat at an empty table to wait. "I would rather be killed in a hunt than live my last years in a place like this."

Sam scrunched his mouth and nodded his head in agreement with Dean's sentiment.

Dean spotted an orange tabby cat stretched out on a sofa looking at him. Dean stared back at it. Both feline and Winchester brother widened their eyes and dilated their pupils. Moments later a staff member pushed Louise in a wheelchair to the table where they waited.

[ ](https://ceh3167.wordpress.com/my-stories/)

When she saw the brothers, she became lively and grinned in pleasure at her visitors.

"Now, here are some good looking young fellows, some eye-candy, like we used to say, for some sore old eyes," she said and threw her head back laughing.

"Thank you, ma'am," said Sam. 

"When I got my sight back, I took one look at my husband, and thought 'good God,' he sure got old and ugly over the years. In fact, he was revolting, with all that baggy skin and those grotesque yellow teeth. I couldn't stand the look at him."

Dean shot Sam a look with a little grin on his face, gloating that he was right about her. Sam shook his head, this time in disagreement, for him to stop being a jerk.

"That's why I killed him, stabbed him right in the chest. That's what you came to ask me about isn't it." She laughed again. "Even that old tabby over there told me I did the right thing."

Dean looked at the cat again. It looked up from grooming its front paws and gave Dean a wink. Dean pulled his head back and grimaced.

"I can't believe I lived in the same house with him for so long. That horrid face! He was like a monster. He just stood there grinning at me with those nasty yellow teeth." She made a histrionic shutter, throwing her hands up, before covering her eyes.

"Ma'am, ma'am," said Sam, trying to quiet her. "There is something we want to ask you that the other authorities might not have mentioned."

"Oh, so you don't want to know why I killed him?"

"We want to know how you got your sight back," said Sam.

"That thing that was my husband, he made me hold that grotesque thing in my hand," she said. "Then he put his palm on my forehead and mumbled some gibberish, like that claptrap those Catholics spout. We had a catholic maid once. She would go around mumbling foreign words. Her cooking skills were limited, but she was diligent."

"Were there any employees in the house at that time?" said Sam.

"My husband," she flinched as she said those words, "had sent them away for the afternoon. We were the only ones in the house. I sat at the dining room table waiting for them to return so they could get rid of that body. I would have preferred them to just dump it somewhere, but they called the police. The coroner finally removed it."

"That thing he had you hold. What was it?" Sam asked.

"It had a fingernail on one end and was all bloody on the other, dried blood."

"So, it was a severed human finger?" said Sam.

"I guess so. As soon as I saw the thing in my hand, I threw it on the floor."

"Did the police take it? said Sam.

"I don't know. When I was waiting for the servants to return, I went and picked the vile thing up with a Kleenex and threw it in the trash. Later, I scolded the housekeeper and cook for not keeping the kitchen as clean as it should be. Ha! I guess they thought I would never see it. I fired them."

"Do you think it's still there?" said Sam.

"Oh, who knows? They won't let me go home."

Sam and Dean excused themselves and stood to leave while the staff wheeled her back to her room. Dean had been eyeing the orange tabby cat throughout the entire interview.

"Why do you keep looking at that cat? Sam asked.

"I could swear that cat was trying to talk to me," said Dean. "It kept mouthing words to me. I think it called me a dumb ass."

"Dean, you are a dumb ass."

"I'm not a dumb ass, you are the dumb ass."

"Dean, I think we need to change our clothes and plan a break-in and entering."

"We will have to wait until dark for that," said Dean. "While we are still all dolled up, how about we visit the Bishop place?"

"Why do you want to go there?" said Sam.

"Got some time to kill," said Dean. "It might be interesting to scope it out."

"The family probably cleared the place out by now," said Sam.

"Not if the death was suspicious," said Dean.

"There is no reason to think it was suspicious," said Sam.

"I still think it's worth taking a look," said Dean. "We should drop in on the landlord."

~*~

The landlord unlocked the door to the apartment that Brent shared with his late boyfriend Hank and stepped aside to let the two FBI agents enter.

"Has the family been here and removed items from the apartment?" said Sam.

"Nope, the apartment has been closed up since Brent's passing," said the landlord. "We are only waiting for the legal amount of time to pass before we remove the tenant's belongings."

"The poor man's dead," said Dean.

"It's so we can legally remove his stuff from the unit and prepare the unit for a new tenant." said the landlord.

"So, Mr. Bishop was a minimalist, he liked things Spartan, judging from the lack of furniture," said Sam.

"Oh, no," said the landlord. "Brent and his companion had a nice comfortable home until his boyfriend died. That was over a year ago. His boyfriend's family came and cleaned Brent out, taking all the valuables and furniture."

"Couldn't he stop them?" said Dean.

"They weren't legally married, and Hank's mother, that was his companion's name, thought they owed her for the embarrassment they caused her by being gay," said the landlord. "They were such an oddly matched couple."

"In what way?" said Sam.

"Hank was a big athletic man. He liked nice expensive things and was a bit of a playboy. Brent was skinny, reserved, and quiet. Truth be told, he was overly dependent on Hank. Brent was near financial ruin when he died," said the landlord.

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"Do you know anything about his faith healing activities?" asked Dean.

"Not a thing. I found out about it like everyone else, on the news. That's when people started mobbing the building."

"This building here?" said Sam.

"Right outside on the steps is where they killed him. I'll show you." The landlord opened the balcony door and stepped outside. The apartment was on the third floor, and the apartment buildings set on a hill, so it was a long way down to the sidewalk. "They were all pushing him so hard to get their hands on him, damn selfish people; they ended up shoving him down the steps."

Ten cracked cement steps lead up from the sidewalk to the entryway.

"They made him fall back down the steps and smashed the back of his skull in. He died a few days later in the hospital, but that is where they essentially killed him," said the landlord. "Other tenants from the building called me. I arrived just before the ambulance. Even as he lay there bleeding on the steps, that damn mob kept running their hands over his body and dipping their fingers into his blood, praying for their own healings. It was revolting."

They stood there on the balcony looking down on the steps imagining that scene.

"Well, I'll let you agents get back to your investigation," said the landlord. "It's a good thing you came when you did, we were about to start clearing out the apartment this weekend."

"What are you going to do with his staff?" said Dean.

"It will go into a dumpster and be hauled off. We promised to send his mother any personal items like pictures or jewelry, stuff like that. Hank's mother had already cleaned out the place except for the bedroom."

"Why not the bedroom?" Sam asked.

"She thought everything in there with dirty. She was one of those 'Christian ladies'," said the landlord. "I'll wait outside for you and lock the place back up when you are done."

The landlord exited through the back entrance and pulled the door shut behind him leaving Sam and Dean alone.

"So what are we looking for here?" said Dean, "spell books, magic wands, pentagrams, any evidence of witchcraft?"

"That," said Sam, "or anything that links our friend Brent here back to Louise or the mysterious visitor to the funeral home's 'technician'.

Sam and Dean scoured the apartment. Most of the space was bare, except for a card table, some folding chairs, and some cheap shelves. They searched through books and papers but found nothing of any interest. They searched through the kitchen cabinets and drawers and came up empty-handed.

The few nice things Brent had were all hoarded into the bedroom. Hank's finer tastes were displayed by the expensive sheets on the bed, and the framed artwork, nudes of course of male models. Dean caught himself grinning at the naked pictures and suppressed his smile before Sam saw it. There was expensive jewelry in the dresser and fashionable clothes in the closet. There was no evidence of the occult.

Dean spotted a statuette on the dresser. At first thinking it was a piece of artwork; Dean picked it up and started to admire it.

"What does this make you think of? Something African," said Dean.

Sam looked up from searching a bedside table. He sucked in a quick breath and said, "Put that thing down."

"A little statue, maybe a chess piece? Oh, I see, the bishop," said Dean. "It moves diagonally."

"That's not a statue," said Sam. "It's a dildo."

Dean realized what it was and quickly set it back down on the dresser. Sam and Dean stood in silence for a moment staring at the dildo.

"That's not even realistic. No man is that big," said Dean.

"Don't be so sure," said Sam.

Dean looked at Sam. He glanced down at Sam's pants, then back up.

"You're exaggerating," said Dean.

"I'm not a little boy anymore," said Sam.

"That's not right, you're lying," said Dean.

"When was the last time you saw me naked?" said Sam.

"Not since you were a little boy, and I had to give you baths," said Dean.

"I've grown since them," said Sam. "You want to see me naked now?"

"I don't ever want to see you naked," said Dean. "That's too weird."

Sam went back to searching the bedside table. Dean felt he needed to wash his hands and cleanse his mind of the image of his little brother having something bigger than himself. When Dean returned to the bedroom, Sam was reading some papers.

"I think I may have found something or at least a lead," Sam said.

"What is it?"

"It's a letter, making an offer of payment for a healing," said Sam.

"Good," said Dean. "Take it and we will go. I don't see anything else we can use."

Dean glanced at the dildo. He wanted to get away from that thing.

"You want us to just steal it?"

"What do you want to do, enter it into evidence?" said Dean.

"It's something personal; his mother might want it."

"We'll mail it to her later, right now it's our only lead," said Dean.

The presence of the dildo was taunting Dean.

"Let's get out of here. That thing is creeping me out."

They also exited by the back door and thanked the landlord. As Dean drove them past the front of the building, Sam eyed the cement steps.

"That's a pretty grim way to go," said Sam.

"I can think of worse," said Dean.

Sam looked at his brother and peered into his eyes.

"Are you thinking about the hell hounds again?"

Dean didn't answer. He pressed the accelerator of Baby and looked for someplace to eat. He was hungry for a burger and a beer.

~*~

They stopped at Winsted's, a 1950's themed restaurant for a triple decked jumbo burger and some grass for Sam. Then they went on to Westport for some beers in one of the district's many bars. Sam studied the letter while Dean hit on the waitress with winks and grins.

"Are you trying to make Castiel jealous?" said Sam.

"Why do you keep thinking Cas is my boyfriend? You know I like the ladies," said Dean.

"I've seen the way you look at him."

"You're nuts."

"He does have a more profound bond with you," said Sam.

"Whatever." Dean gave Sam an eye roll.

"I wonder if this Mr. Leeds is somehow connected to Louise's husband?" said Sam. "He offers Brent money to attempt a healing on his sick daughter."

"How much?"

"It doesn't say how much."

"He could be the man who offered money to the technician fellow," said Dean.

"I doubt it," said Sam. "If the healing of the daughter was successful then he wouldn't need Brent anymore; if the healing was a failure then he would think Brent was a fraud."

"Unless it was a success and he got greedy and wanted his fingers to sell for a nice profit on the black market once he heard Brent was dead," said Dean.

"Maybe."

"We should go and interview him also," said Dean.

"I haven't seen his name mentioned in the media," said Sam.

"So?"

"If we tried to interview him now, and he is connected, we will tip him off," said Sam.

"Ok, I need another beer."

"Don't get too drunk. We still have a mansion too break into tonight."

"When do I ever get too drunk?"

"It's a good thing Cas keeps healing your liver," said Sam.

"Shut up bitch."

"Suck it, jerk face."

~*~

They parked Baby a block away and slinked behind the back of the house under the cover of darkness.

"Do you think the house has an alarm?" asked Sam.

"I'll cut the wires if they do," said Dean.

"Everything is wireless today," said Sam.

"I'll pick the lock," said Dean. "If we trigger an alarm, you grab the kitchen trash and we book it out of there fast."

"That's not much of a plan," said Sam.

"All we need is the bone," said Dean. "Now cover your face in case they have a video camera."

The brothers made their way to the back door of the mansion, and Dean picked the lock. Sam slipped inside. He saw a red flashing light next to the door. Damn, there was an alarm, a silent one. Sam flashed his light around in the dark kitchen and quickly located the trash. He pulled the bag from its bin and got the hell out of there.

They jumped into the Impala just as the police cars arrived on the scene. Dean drove in the opposite direction heading for the interstate.

~*~

It was well past midnight when the brothers arrived at the bunker.

"I'm so tired. I need some beer and some pie," said Dean. "Then we'll take a look at that finger."

Dean headed for the bunker's galley.

Sam started to dump the bag on the war room’s table, but then stopped realizing he didn’t now what was in the bag. He pulled the bag open and inspected the litter one item at a time.

Inside Louise’s trash he found several takeout containers from posh Kansas City restaurants. Sam wondered if her cook and servants were trying to pull one over are Louise by feeding her fancy takeout food instead of cooking for her. Of course, she could be demanding the high class cuisine herself or her husband. Sam was surprised to find no vegetable matter, not even a salad remnant. At the bottom of the bag he found it. It was a severed pinky finger. Sam guess it was all her husband was will to expend on his wife, the littlest of the fingers.

Dean walked into the room with a big slice of blueberry pie on a plate and a fork. He sat at the table covered with takeout boxes, and shoved pie into his mouth.

"So is it there?" he asked,

"One severed finger." Sam held up the digit with his own pinky extended.

"I can't believe you are touching that," said Dean.

"You would think there would be maggots on it by now," said Sam.

"Dude, I'm eating."

"I know." Sam smirked and tossed the finger on the table near Dean's plate.

Dean grabbed his plate and pulled it toward himself.

"I'm going to eat my pie and go to bed. You can clean up this mess." Dean got up and walked to the corridor that leads to his room taking the pie with him.

"You should clean up all the trash in your room,” said Sam.

"It's my nest Sammy, leave it alone."

"I guess you will be laying eggs in there soon."

"I will if I want."

"Will Cas have fertilized them first?"

"Shut it, Sammy, Shut it," said Dean. "And go wash your hands." 


	9. The Throne of God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel continues his conversation with Emanuel and learns why Emanuel is on Earth rather than Heaven. Castiel is given a glimpse of the Throne of God.

“Were you there when I was in heaven?” asked Emanuel.

“No,” said Castiel. “I was on earth with my garrison.”

“Have you heard the story of how I was thrown out of heaven? How I ended up here?”

“I haven’t. I would like to hear it,” said Cas.

“After I died on earth, after they drove those nails into my hands and feet, and left me to suffocate,” said Emanuel. “At first I went to hell.”

“You went to hell?”

“I always go to hell when I die,” said Emanuel. “It was the Father’s will that I preach to those in hell. He had this new story he wanted to circulate.”

Castiel and nodded his head with a perplexed look on his face.

“It’s a dreary place, lots of gothic architecture and bad interior design. Gothic wasn’t even a fad yet.”

Castiel looked stumped but didn’t interrupt.

“Then I ascended to heaven to be greeted by the angels, before returning to my body which the angels repaired. I spent some time with my disciples trying to teach them, but they were mostly illiterate and abandoned me once I was gone. Some were fervent, some were misguided, and some were self-serving and let the attention go to their heads. And some like that Paul were opportunists. All they managed to do was get things all garbled up. God lost interest in my storyline and didn’t bother to preserve it. So it quickly got corrupted,” said Emanuel. “It was soon after that when God abandoned heaven for good.”

“Is that why God left heaven,” asked Cas.

“His expectations were too high, and I was a disappointment. My mission was considered a failure,” said Emanuel. “You see, God had this idea, that if he offered everyone redemption, if he was the redeemer, and I was the payment, then humans would behave better and live up to his impossibly high ideal that he had in his mind. Everything would be well, but of course, humans didn’t, and he lost faith in them and then abandoned heaven and earth.”

“The angels blamed me. I had failed and driven God away. God had made me this little throne to sit next to him. Then he left his own. That is when Michael took over in ruled as a dictator. The angels didn’t know that yet. Centuries of Michael’s rule left the angels disheartened. I heard all about it. I was hiding here in this temple the Seraphim built for me.”

“Michael’s first command was to have me thrown from heaven, cast down to the earth,” said Emanuel. “Michael commanded the regiment of angels loyal to him to size me and rip me from my throne. The angels and court and all the onlookers cheered them on as they dragged me down the golden streets, through the pearly gates to the edge of heaven. None of them dared shoved me over. God had forbidden any of them from doing me harm. Then Michael, the one time he disobeyed his father, was the one who pushed me over the edge.”

“It was a long way down. I fell and fell and when I finally hit the earth, I splattered. Right there on the mountainside, my body was smashed into a pile of blood, guts, shattered bones, strings of muscle and my skull crushed. My spirit hovered nearby, but with no body to occupy.”

“Holy men resided in these mountains. The shamans of the local people, spiritual people who make pilgrimages to their holy sites in these mountains. I called out to them in their dreams, appeared in their visions. I led them to my remains. By then my flesh crawled with maggots, my brains picked over by scavenging birds. Shamans found me and buried me.”

“For a long time, my spirit floated among the peaks, wandered among the crags and cliffs of the mountains. My spirit wrapped itself among the boulders and sparse vegetation and cuddled the small rodents that make these slopes their home.”

“That’s when the Seraphim came. They exhumed what little remains of me that were left from the volcanic soil of the mountains. They place the fragments of my bones and the little scraps of flesh they sorted from the ash and placed them into the life-giving waters of the pool to regenerate. It was the Seraphim that hewed out the stone of this cavern, protected it with powerful angelic warding, and laid me here to rest. Why should they do that for me?”

“When God left heaven, the Seraphim wept with grief. They loved the Father dearly. They sang songs of praise and love to him day and night. They burned incense for him so his nose always smelled pleasing scents. They glowed with light and color so there was always beauty surrounding his throne, and fed him the best morsels to eat that all creation had to offer. Then he left them. And they wept. Their cries and wails were heard throughout heaven.” said Emanuel. “And the throne set empty.”

“Michael threatened to imprison them in the dungeons of heaven. They paid him no heed, and continued to wail.” Castiel remembered the time he spent in heaven’s dungeon but dared not interrupted Emanuel’s story.

“Michael attempted to usurp the throne for himself. He even tried to sit on God’s seat, but the Seraphim repulsed him and tossed him from the court of heaven. Michael was not the only one who tried to sit on his father’s throne. Lucifer tried. The Seraphim repulsed him as well. Even Metatron tried. The Seraphim would allow no one to sit on God’s throne,” said Emanuel. “That is when the Seraphim left heaven and took the throne with them. They hollowed out this temple in the rock to hide it from the archangels, and graciously provided me a resting place within.”

“Have you ever sat on the throne?” asked Castiel.

“I never tried. In the centuries I have been here, I have never wanted to. They brought me my little chair to rest upon. I was never tempted to try for anything more. I’m both human and divine, gifted with eternal life, and the life-giving waters from the pool of Bethesda to sustain and heal my body. I have the whole earth at my feet. What more should I want?”

“You have never craved for more, from the throne?” said Cas.

“I have the Seraphim to care for my soul,” said Emanuel. “They have access to the infinite power that resides in God’s thrown.”

“The throne of God is here?”

“Would you like to see it?”

“Indeed,” said Cas, with a surprised look on his face.

“Look upon it,” Emanuel said, pointing with his left hand.

Castiel followed Emanuel’s gesture toward that dark space in the rear wall. Candlesticks and lamps began to light and illuminate the space until Castiel could see an immense chair emerge from the darkness. After surveying it for a moment, Castiel felt a slight disappointment with the divine seat.

“Are you disappointed? Down here on earth it looks like a giant chair. In heaven, it is glorious,” said Emanuel.

“I have never been anywhere near God’s throne.”

“Go and investigate it, but don’t try to sit on it,” said Emanuel in a mock warning voice while smiling.

Castiel slowly approached the oversized chair, keeping a lookout for any six-winged Seraphim that he knew were lurking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry that this chapter is not finished. All that is missing is a description of the throne. What would God's throne look like?


	10. The Queen of Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean conjure up Rowena for a consultation.

“Dean, Dean.” Sam shook Dean by the shoulders, “wake up.” Sam jumped away from the bed holding up his hands.

Dean suddenly awakened and reflexively reached for the pistol under his pillow.

“Don’t shoot. It’s me, Sam.” Sam waved his hands to calm Dean.

“What are you doing waking me like that?” said Dean. “Can’t a man get his four hours of sleep?”

“Dean you’ve been sleeping for twelve hours,” said Sam. “Here, I brought you a beer.”

Sam picked up a beer he had set on a bedside table and started to toss it to Dean, but then reconsidered and stepped forward to hand it to him. He didn’t want to clean up another shattered bottle of beer in case Dean was still groggy and failed to catch the bottle.

Dean took the bottle after planting his feet on the floor. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before taking a sip.

“Were you drooling?” asked Sam.

“Of course not!”

“Your pillow is wet,” said Sam.

“When a man is asleep, he doesn’t always have control over his salivatory glands.”

“What were you dreaming about?”

“You sound like Cas.”

“Were you dreaming about Cas?”

“No, shut up.”

“Then what were you dreaming about?”

“Cherry pie, if you have to know. What do you want?”

Dean got out of bed and looked for some clothes to put on. He slept in a dark blue tee-shirt and some black boxer-briefs. He grabbed a pair of dirty jeans from the floor and sniffed the butt. “Those stink,” he said absent-mindedly and tossed them back to the floor.

“Dean, take a shower and put on some clean clothes,” said Sam. “I will make you something for lunch.”

“Lunch? Is it really that late?”

Sam nodded his head and turned to leave.

“I want real meat,” said Dean. “None of your grass-fed stuff.”

“You will have something healthy,” Sam called back.

“With lots of protein,” said Dean. “I’m a growing boy.”

“Try a middle-aged man of forty.”

“I can still kick your ass,” shouted Dean down an empty hall, but he knew Sam had heard him.

Dean washed and stepped out of the shower. He gave himself a once over in the mirror surveying his muscles. His body was still tight and strong. His biceps flexed and he still had his abs. His upper body was not built like Sam’s. Dean looked at his penis. His member relaxed from the steam of the shower, nicely circumcised and hanging in a masculine trunk over his balls. They were manly and attractive. Dean thought of Sam’s equipment. There was no way he could be as large as that sculpture they saw yesterday. Sam had to be exaggerating. If he was that big, then Dean would just feel inadequate, and Dean hated feeling that way. It would break his spirit whenever he felt he was not up to the task. The feeling he had to always fight, or he would fall into that dreaded sense of failure for all the people he had let down, and all the times he was not good enough, especially with Sam. Enough-he shut those thoughts down. He dressed in a clean flannel shirt and jeans and went to see what Sam wanted.

Sam sat at the table in the library looking at the screen of his laptop.

“Here, I made you some breakfast burritos that you like,” said Sam, as he slid the plate with two of those wraps for Dean to shove in his mouth. “They have all those fake meat products and preservatives you like so much. I added some healthy vegetables.”

Dean grunted and grabbed one of the burritos. He bit off one end and chewed before his butt hit the seat of his chair.

“So what’s going on that you had to wake me up,” Dean mumbled through the cheese and meat in his mouth.

Sam turned the laptop toward him, which showed a picture of a large industrial building with its roof blown off and its sides exploded.

“Damn, that was one hell of an explosion,” said Dean. “So what is this?”

“This is a crematorium in Kansas City,” said Sam. “They were cremating our faith healer’s body, and it exploded.”

“The body exploded?”

“The furnace they were cremating him in exploded, and it took out the whole building.”

“Is that unusual?” said Dean, with a skeptical tone in his voice.

“Yes, it’s unusual,” said Sam. “And don’t eat so fast, you’re going to choke.”

Dean grabbed a beer to wash down his food that Sam left for him on the table.

“When did they dig him up?”

“Early this morning, around dawn, when there were fewer people. It was still a mess. There’s an online video if you want to watch.”

“Sure. Let’s see it.”

On the video, the camera zooms in on a backhoe dumping dirt on an adjacent plot. Even in the gray morning light, people still stood around wailing. When the casket was finally lifted from the hole, people scrambled to touch the holy object before it was loaded on a truck and driven away.

“I hope they took him out of the casket before they burned him,” said Dean.

“They put the bodies into special cardboard boxes to cremate them,” said Sam.

“I know that Sam.”

“So, the question is what caused the explosion? Surely not the body itself, but something in the body?”

“Maybe they packed him with explosives?”

“Be serious Dean.”

“Ok, maybe there was some kind of spell that was released when the body was torched? We have seen that before when dealing with cursed objects.”

“Maybe,” said Sam. “But what worries me is whatever was released from his body is also in the fingers and it could be channeled with the right magic into something quite powerful.”

“Or dangerous.”

“I wish I could consult Rowena,” said Sam. “And get some idea of what we are dealing with.”

“She is in hell now, maybe we could use some demon summonsing spell and call her up,” said Dean.

Sam noticeably winced and broke eye contact with Dean.

“Hey man,” said Dean. “I didn’t mean to dredge that up.”

“What makes you think Rowena would respond to a demon summonsing spell?” said Sam. “She was a witch, not a demon.”

“Did she have any special sigil she responded to,” asked Dean.

“I don’t think so; she was not dead until a few days ago.”

“So there is no way to contact her spirit,” said Dean. “We could use a ouija board?”

“I wonder if she would respond to Crowley’s sigil. She was his mother, and he would be in the empty,” said Sam.

Sam cleared away the books from the table. Then he drew a triangle with a circle in its center on the tabletop. In the three points of the triangle, Sam drew the necessary symbols and set a bowl on top of the circle. Into the bowl, he added acacia and other dried herbs, nuts, and fruits. Finally, he set three candles positioned at each of the three points of the triangle.

“Do you want to summons her or should I,” said Sam.

“You’re the warlock here, you do your thing,” said Dean.

“I’m not a warlock.”

“You were her special apprentice-Samuel,” said Dean, stretching out his pronunciation of ‘Samuel’ in a fake Scottish accent.

“Shut up, Dean.”

Dean grinned at his silly joke.

Sam picked up a dagger from the table and slit the palm of his hand. He winced a little, but the skin of his palm had been sliced up so many times that it didn’t hurt much anymore. He squeezed his hand shut and let a few drops of blood fall into the bowl.

Sam looked at Dean and asked him if he was ready. Dean nodded and pulled out his demon-killing knife just in case. Sam then struck a match and dropped it into the bowl. The contents ignited with a purple flame. Sam spoke the Latin incantation.

“Et ad congregandum … eos coram me.”

Nothing happened. The bowl continued to burn with its eerie purple flame. Sam tried saying the incantation again.

“Et ad congregandum…”

A female voice with a Scottish accent finished the incantation: “eos coram me.”

“Rowena,” said Sam. “Where are you? Are you here?”

“What are you doing boys? Playing with magic again?”

She stepped out from behind a bookshelf. Her body was covered with a floor-length red dress that hugged her thighs and displayed her full breasts. Her abundant jewelry flattered her neck, wrists, and ears. Gemstones adorned her fiery red hair and steep black heels.

“Boys you shouldn’t play with that kind of magic. You don’t know what you might conjure up,” she said.

“We were calling for you, so I would say we succeeded,” said Dean.

“Lucky for you, I just happened to be in a privileged position to respond, or you might have gotten that abhorrent thing I had to overthrow.”

“What do you mean that abhorrent thing?” said Sam.

“You called for the ruler of Hell. It’s a good thing I staged that coupe. You know how I love power,” said Rowena.

“You are the ruler of Hell now?” said Dean.

“In-person, but not in the flesh,” she said. “I miss sex. I should have done it with Gabriel when I had the chance.”

“So you are…,” stumbled Sam.

“The Queen of Hell, dear Samuel. Who better to take over from the former king than his mother?”

“But Crowley has been dead for a long time,” said Dean.

“Everyone in Hell is dead dear, but they still hold grudges and remember their favorites,” she said. “You actually did me a great favor killing me. Now I am Queen.”

“How did you become Queen,” asked Sam.

“I took it, obviously. The dwellers of Hell loved my Fergus and hated that horrid Balphagore. He was so lazy and easy to overthrow. He was so behind the times. He was still hung up on phallus worship. We live in an age of feminism now. It was time for a Queen.”

“So Balphagore survived Castiel’s attack on him,” said Dean.

“As one of the princes of Hell, he was pretty durable. I had to banish him to the Empty, but I made a nice trade.

“A nice trade?” said Sam.

“What do you want boys? You called me away from a nice tea with Queen Jezebel.”

Sam flinched and came to attention with her sharp tone.

“I wanted to consult with you on a case,” said Sam.

“Such sweet boys, you always come running to auntie Rowena when you need help.”

“Dean, go get the bone from the freezer,” said Sam.

“You put it in the freezer?” said Dean, “with our food?”

“Where else was I going to put it?”

“Boys, I don’t have all eternity to wait on you. I have a schedule to keep, parties to host, and naughty souls to punish. Dear Fergus was so unimaginative with the eternal waiting lines. I have something much more entertaining in mind.”

“I’ll get the bone,” said Dean. He hurried away to the kitchen to retrieve it. While Dean was away, Sam quickly filled Rowena in on the situation.

Dean reentered the library carrying the finger in a sealed plastic bag at arm’s length. He held it out for Rowena to inspect. She rolled the digit between her thumb and forefingers sensually displaying her long blood-red fingernails.

“So, what do you think?” said Sam.

“It’s a severed finger and rather crudely I would say. I can tell you this, whatever power was in it is long since gone,” she said.

“So it’s like a Hand of God. It can only be used once?” said Sam.

“Are you expecting God might be behind this?”

“I don’t know,” said Sam. “But now that I have the Queen of Hell to consult, can I rule out demons? Or magic?

“I know of no such plots coming from the underworld, and I make it my business to know. I’ll keep a lookout for any such treachery. If it was a demonic object I would know. Being Queen has its benefits. It’s not magic either. I know my profession.”

Dean had laid the frozen finger on the table and stood looking at it.

“What’s wrong, it got you spooked?” said Rowena.

“Hell no,” said Dean. “I’ve seen severed fingers before and much worse, I’ll have you know.”

[](https://ceh3167.wordpress.com/my-stories/)“Maybe he’s thinking about Cas,” said Sam.

“Oh, and where is your handsome angel friend?” she said.

“Dean threw him out,” said Sam.

“You did what? You tossed your boyfriend out?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Did he try to put the moves on you, and you went into a gay panic?”

“No gay panic,” said Dean.

“Did he finally make it to fifth base with you?” said Rowena. She bit her lower lip and winked at Dean.

“I know what that means now, and no, he did not. I would stab him in the neck if he even tried, just on principle.”

“Dean!” said Sam. “You would not. It’s Cas.”

“That creeps me out. I’m not against gay people. I’m manly.” Dean insisted.

“Like those gay hunters, we worked with one time? They were pretty manly,” said Sam.

“I know he likes to watch you when you sleep. Maybe he’s been in your ass and you don’t know it,” said Rowena. The sides of her lips twitched as she spoke.

“Dean likes to be handled rough,” said Sam.

“Oh, really?” Rowena provocatively stretched out ‘really’.

“Knock it off you two. It’s not funny,” said Dean.

“It’s funny,” said Rowena.

Both Sam and Rowena laughed. Dean grimaced and shook his head.

“He overcompensates for his repressed feelings,” said Sam.

Dean made a mock sarcastic smile.

“You and your special angel friend need to go and make up now. Your auntie Rowena said so.”

“The Queen needs to get back to her party. I’m afraid my frankincense tea has gotten cold. We can easily reheat it; we were having a nice luncheon at the edge of the lake of fire.”

“The lake of fire?” said Dean in a flat unbelieving voice.

“Yes dear, it’s quite a sight. Next time make an appointment. Tootles.”

Rowena disappeared in a puff of black smoke leaving a faint smell of sulfur behind.

“That’s different. I always thought she smelled faintly of honey before,” said Sam.

Dean gave him a baffled look.

“What?” said Sam.

“Are you still smitten with her?”

“No,” said Sam haltingly. “She is dead.”

“You pine for her,” said Dean.

“Like you do for Cas,” said Sam.

“I don’t, and it’s not the same.”

“Speaking of Castiel,” said Sam. “Why don’t you call for him and see if this is something heaven has cooked up.”

[](https://wordpress.us14.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=7102a97ff3d2b56143218cbc8&id=5bcf6dba8b)“Oh, c’mon man, why does it always have to be me?”

“You are the one with the more profound bond, remember?”

“Fine. Oh Cas, with your feathered ass; you got your antenna tuned in?” said Dean in a joking voice.

“You could try a little harder than that,” said Sam.

Dean growled.

“Cas, it’s me, Dean. Sam wants to talk to you about a case. Could to answer him?”

Castiel didn’t appear.

“Come on Cas, please.


	11. A Stumble, A Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emanuel and Cas conclude their conversation. Cas tells Emanuel about his love for Dean. Together the two leave Emanuel's mountain hideaway.

“You have a special gentleman friend who is on your mind,” said Emanuel. “Worry not, I won’t be shocked.”

Castiel was surprised that Emanuel knew about Dean. Cas had been trying to hide his feelings in case Emanuel picked up on them. “How did you know about him,” Cas said.

“Your soul cries out for him. Your heart longs for him. Your vessel desires him,” said Emanuel. “And you are being all broody. That’s what love does to one.”

Castiel turned his face and away.

“He doesn’t want me.” His voice was low and wavered. “He turned me away.”

“Does he know the depth of your feelings? Or are you hiding them away and hopes he notices?”

“I guess I’m hiding them. I don’t think he feels the same way about me.”

“Why don’t you tell me about him?” said Emanuel.

Castiel sat silent for several moments, trying to find a place to start.

“Sometimes he looks at me, with his eyes, his beautiful green eyes, and I think there is affection there. At first, I would look back with bafflement. I didn’t understand love. The more I understood, the more I tried to return those looks. To let him know my affection is growing for him too. Other times he will barely glance at me, and I feel broken.” said Castiel. “Once he even told me that no one cares if I’m broken.”

“Do you feel broken?” asked Emanuel.

“Yes, I was broken. I was confused. I had fallen and disobeyed superiors. I was hated in heaven and was alone on earth. I made him the center of my existence. I tried to convey that to him in my looks, how broken I felt. I wanted him more than anything. I wanted him to care that I was broken. I was devastated when he said he didn’t care either.”

“How did an angel like you come to be involved with a human?”

“I raised him from hell.”

“Michael approved that?”

“No, it was a complicated plan that Raphael came up with. He wanted to overthrow Michael and rule heaven himself,” said Cas.

“I’m surprised by that. Things must have gotten pretty bad in heaven.”

“Raphael’s plan took centuries to play out and culminated in the Winchester Brothers, Sam and Dean. Both heaven and hell conspired to complete this plan. Raphael and the angels loyal to him used the cupids to bring about a series of marriages that led to John and Mary, so they could conceive Sam and Dean, the true vessels of Michael and Lucifer.”

“That sounds ominous,” said Emanuel.

“Sam and Dean were destined to break the first and last seals of Lucifer’s cage and release him on earth,” said Cas.

“Why would Raphael and his angels want to work with hell to do that?” asked Emanuel.

“So Michael and Lucifer could bring about the apocalypse and have their final battle. Raphael thought if they battled each, God would return home and peace would finally come to heaven and earth,” said Castiel.

“I’ve heard of that awful plan. Some of my less forgiving followers tried to make me part of it; make me play the role of Michael. I rejected that evil, revolting scheme. When I was still in heaven, when God was still on his throne, I would beg him to never carry it out, to never wreak that kind of vengeance on humanity. I refused to play any role in it. I wanted no part.”

“Me and my garrison tried to stop Raphael from carrying out this plan. I was ready to kill Sam and Dean if it was necessary,” said Cas. “But then I fell for Dean and fell from heaven. I made it my mission to protect them, now both heaven and hell despise me.”

“Is there more to this story you’re not telling?”

“So much more. So much that heaps shame on me,” said Cas. “If you don’t mind, I would prefer not to speak of those things aloud and keep them buried in my heart.”

[](https://ceh3167.wordpress.com/my-stories/)“Even though they pain you?”

“Yes.”

They sat in silence for a while.

“Your beloved seems to have found himself as a starring character in one of God’s stories. Your Sam and Dean are destined to fight each other as the true vessels of Michael and Lucifer. I know that story. It’s one of God’s favorites. The collusion between heaven and hell, Raphael and his angels, you and your garrison, are all prologues,” said Emanuel.

“How do you know this?”

“God is my father, I know my father’s work,” said Emanuel. “I know the stories he likes to tell. The ones he likes to act out in the lives of humans as part of his grand drama.”

“Most people God never bothers with,” continued Emanuel. “They go about their lives without any intervention. Ever wonder why God doesn’t answer their prayers? Only his special ones get answers. He gets bored. But the ones he takes a special interest in, he never leaves them alone, until he finally destroys them.”

“When God loses interest in his own creations, the characters of his own stories, he will change the script,” said Emanuel. “He sent a serpent to spice up his story of Eden and expelled Adam and Eve when they fell for his revised storyline. He killed the giants with a flood when he got disgusted with his own pornography of transgression between angels and human women, and wiped them all out, except for Noah and his animals. He always leaves himself an opportunity for a sequel.”

“Then there were the forty years of wandering he punished his adoptive people with. After he finally settled them, he got bored again and decided to smash their kingdoms and demolish their cities; he even destroyed the temple he demanded they build for him. He just makes a new story that is obsessed with old themes,” said Emanuel. “He won’t stop telling stories until he too returns to the empty.”

Emanuel stopped speaking and looked closely at Castiel. Cas said on the bench looking down at his hands. Emanuel could see his eyes were filled with tears.

“Are those tears of joy or sadness?” Emanuel asked.

“I don’t know,” said Cas. “I feel confused. I don’t know what I should do.”

“You should answer him,” said Emanuel. “I hear him too. Your special gentleman friend is calling for you.”

“I don’t want to answer him yet,” said Cas. “I want to stay here a little while longer. I felt really hurt when he sent me away.”

“A little bit of petty retribution,” said Emanuel with a smile. “You can make him wait a little while longer, even though your heart calls out for you to go to him.”

“Yes.”

“There once was an ancient rabbi who said something along the lines of: ‘You are not required to finish, but you are required to try’.”

“Rabbi Tarfon,” said Cas.

“What would be the ‘finished’ for you?”

“I want to have the kind of love that Dean has for his brother. I want to have the kind of love that lets me take him into my arms, kiss his lips, and feel the warmth and strength of his body. I want to lie in his bed with him, not stand over it and watch him while he sleeps,” said Cas. His voice choked. “I want to be redeemed; I want to be in the arms of my beloved. Are both possible?”

The tears that were hovering in Castiel’s eyes finally overflowed his lids and streaked down his face.

“I keep throwing myself into danger,” said Cas. “I keep thinking if I get hurt enough then Dean will have to see me and pay attention to me. He told me once that I’m like a brother to him. I don’t want to be his brother; he already has one. Can I be redeemed without having to sacrifice myself? Can I still love and be with him? Is it selfish for an angel to want that? Should I just turn away from it all, go into hiding, and wander alone in my solitude?”

“Like I have?” asked Emanuel.

Castiel put his head in his hands and wouldn’t look at Emanuel.

“What would you do?” Cas finally asked.

[](https://wordpress.us14.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=7102a97ff3d2b56143218cbc8&id=5bcf6dba8b)“I might not have an answer to give you Castiel,” said Emanuel. “Someday, I will tell you the story of Lucifer’s temptations, but not now.”

“The temptations in the gospels?” said Cas.

“No, not those, the real ones. You might find them helpful,” said Emanuel. “The ones that are not recorded, not the ones I told to the disciples.”

Castiel shook his head in dismay.

“Right now your beloved is calling. You should answer him. Maybe you will finally get the response you wanted,” said Emanuel.

“Will you consent to descend to earth with me? I value your continuing council,” said Castiel.

“We are on earth, dear Castiel, but I will descend to the plains with you and accompany you until you find your answer.”

A seraph opened the entrance to the cave, and Emanuel joined the angel on the ledge overlooking the peaks. They were still shrouded and clouds; overhead the sun illuminated the snow caps.

“Can you travel on your own? Or do you need assistance?” asked Castiel.

“Unlike the angels, I don’t have wings to fly,” answered Emanuel. “I will have to catch a ride. Just as Lucifer said: cast yourself down from the temple and the angels will bear you up.”

Emanuel stepped to the ledge and held his arms out. The strong breeze suddenly arose and billowed of his garments around him.

“We will follow your lead angel of the Lord,” said Emanuel. He let himself fall forward over the ledge into the cloud cover. A seraph caught him and bore him up.

Castiel opened his wings and led the way.


	12. Behold the Sheep of God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel brings Emanuel to the Men of Letters bunker. The Winchester brothers get to meet this strange man they know as Jesus of Nazareth.

“That was some ride,” said Emanuel when they landed. “I particularly liked flying over the water. What ocean was that? It was clear and beautiful.”

“That was the Caribbean sea,” said Cas. “It’s one of the loveliest places on earth, I think.”

“We should visit it again.”

“Aren’t you afraid the Seraph might drop you?”

“No. Even if he did, another one would catch me. And if I did hit the ground, they would collect my pieces and put me back into the pool to regenerate.”

The Seraph who carried Emanuel set him down softly outside the Winchester brother’s bunker. Castiel stood next to him. Before them, a few steps lead down to a heavy metal door sunk below ground level.

Castiel stood at the top of the steps looking down at the door, but he did not move.

“Why do you hesitate?” asked Emanuel.

“When I left, I swore I would never return.”

“I will forgive you of your broken oath,” said Emanuel.

“It’s not that,” said Cas. “I have lied and deceived before and broken promises that I wish I had kept.”

“Then why the resistance?”

“I fear that Dean doesn’t want to see me. He is only calling on behalf of Sam.”

“Even if he is, he has still called for you. Maybe his anger has settled, and he misses your presence?” said Emanuel.

Castiel stepped down and pulled the heavy door open. The hinges screeched. Cas held the metal door and indicated for Emanuel to step in ahead of him, before entering himself and pulling the door shut behind.

Below Sam and Dean heard the hinges squeal and rushed into the entryway with their guns drawn.

“Castiel, is that you?” called Dean’s strained voice from below.

Dean appeared at the foot of the steps that led down into the bunker. A flight of curved metal steps that descended from a walkway at the entrance down into the buried heart of the enclosure.

“Well it’s about time,” said Dean. His voice was gruff and his tone condescending.

Emanuel could see from the look on Cas’ face that he was hurt by Dean’s lack of warmth toward him.

Cas descended the steps and gestured for Emanuel to follow.

Sam and Dean stood next to a large table in the center of the room. The top of the table was inlaid with a world map with the continents in different colors. Beer bottles, both empty and half-filled, littered the tabletop.

The brothers eyed these two figures as they emerged for the stairway. The angel wearing a trench coat over a rumpled suit and tie they recognized. The other one, wearing a brown tunic and cloak with sandals, they were unfamiliar with.

Dean waited until they both reached the bottom of the stairs before blurting out: “who’s your friend?”

“This is Emanuel,” said Cas.

“I thought you were Emanuel,” said Dean.

“No Dean, this is the real Emanuel, the son of Joseph and Mary of Nazareth,” said Cas.

“Who is that?” said Dean.

“You mean?” said Sam, stumbling over his words, “like Joseph and Mary, you know, the parents of Jesus, that Emanuel?”

“Yes, Sam, that Emanuel,” said Cas.

“But…really…Jesus?” said Sam.

“Son of a bitch,” blurted out Dean, in shock, stupefied.

“No, no, no, not your mother,” Sam stammered. “It’s just an expression. He doesn’t mean it.”

“No offense is taken,” said Emanuel. “Even in my day, it was common for people to insult each other’s mother.”

Sam looked back and forth between Cas and Emanuel at a loss for words.

“You are surprised that these are the first words you hear out of the mouth of the savior?” said Emanuel. “Were you expecting ‘well done thy good and faithful servant’?”

“I, eh, don’t know what to expect, but not heaven, not anymore,” said Sam.

“I don’t even reside in heaven anymore,” said Emanuel, “not since the Father left.”

“I always believed in you. I would pray to you,” said Sam.

“And I always heard your prayers,” said Emanuel.

“Wait, wait, wait,” interrupted Dean, “you prayed to this joker. He looks like some beach hippy.”

“My attire is traditional to my time but inconsistent with the fashion of your day.”

“Dean, this is Jesus you’re talking about.”

[](https://ceh3167.wordpress.com/my-stories/)“I prefer the name that the archangel Gabriel gave me: Emanuel. I’ve always had a soft spot for him. He announced my birth to the shepherds and the angels sang.”

“Gabriel is dead,” said Dean.

“That saddens me,” said Emanuel.

“Dean,” said Cas in a soothing voice. He reached out to touch his arm. Dean shrugged his hand away.

“Where have you been?” Dean angrily addressed Emanuel. “We have been fighting angels and demons, monsters too, and the whole time you’ve been where?” said Dean.

“Dean,” tried Cas again. “I’ve only just discovered that Emanuel still lives.”

“I have been sleeping, Dean.”

“Then how do you hear prayers?” said Sam.

“I hear them in my dreams,” said Emanuel.

“In your dreams?” said Sam.

“Dean is disappointed in me.”

“You aren’t what I expected,” said Dean.

“What did you expect, blond hair and blue eyes?” said Emanuel.

“I don’t know what I expected,”

“Did I at least get the clothes right?” said Emanuel smiling at Dean.

Emanuel’s smile caught Dean off guard.

“He is a snarky one,” Emanuel said to Cas, “just like you told me.”

“You talked about me,” said Dean. “To Jesus?”

“Dean,” hissed Sam. “It’s Jesus. I’m sure he already knows all about you.”

“You will be greatly relieved that I don’t know everything about people. I don’t make it my business to know about all the times you ‘made Jesus cry’.”

“Oh my God,” Sam gasped.

“I’m human. I wasn’t born with omniscience.”

“Fully human and fully divine,” said Sam.

“Unfortunately, I’m going to disappoint you, Sam,” said Emanuel. “I’m just as human as you are, but cursed with the inability to stay dead. I just keep coming back.”

“Like a vampire?” said Dean.

“Seriously Dean,” said Sam. “He’s referring to his resurrection.”

“No need for bloodsucking Dean,” said Emanuel. “More like a werepire.”

Dean gasped and pointed his finger at Emanuel. “He said it. He said werepire!”

“Shut up Dean,” said Sam. “Why would you disappoint me?”

“Let’s just say the Church got a bit extravagant in its claims,” said Emanuel. “God maybe my father, but I assure you I’m not part of some divine Godhead.”

“I never really believed in the theology of the Church,” said Sam. “It was you who I respected: your love for the poor, your teachings about forgiveness, and your sacrifice.”

“The sacrifice was part of God’s story for me. I wasn’t that into it,” said Emanuel. “The rest were my teachings, but many of my followers today just ignore them. Father picked this Paul guy to peddle this new story, virtually wiping out my own.”

“You mean Chuck lied about you?” said Sam.

“Who is this Chuck?” said Emanuel.

“He means God, our Father. It’s the name he is going by now,” interrupted Castiel.

“Oh, so Chuck, sent this revelation to a young tent maker named Saul on the road that led to Damascus, a vision of me,” said Emanuel. “God or Chuck knew this Saul was very zealous. Saul hated my followers. God converted Saul in this vision of me but changed the message. God replaced my story with this new one about me being a divine sacrifice. Saul changed his name to Paul and started preaching this new gospel.”

Sam and Dean were speechless.

“I’m sorry he did that,” said Castiel.

“Father had a new story he wanted to tell. I was just a character in it,” said Emanuel.

“Just like us,” said Dean.

“So this new theology was spread before my biography was written. My life story got written to reflect this new theology, not to describe my actual life,” said Emanuel.

“Chuck wrote about Sam and Dean’s lives in a series of paranormal novels,” said Cas.

“I will have to read them,” said Emanuel.

“Oh, no, that’s OK, you don’t have to,” stammered Dean.

“Why not?”

“Dean doesn’t want you to read about him having sex,” said Sam.

“I do know what sex is,” said Emanuel. “Maybe someday I will tell you my story.”

Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

“But you summoned his Angel of the Lord who has patiently waited to give you his wise counsel.”

“I don’t know about wise,” said Castiel, exhibiting signs of embarrassment.

“Um, yeah we did. We have this case. We are hunters, and,” Sam fumbled. “We fight monsters and demons.”

“I know about the demons and the monsters too. I’m aware of the hunters. Destiny has placed a heavy burden on your shoulders,” said Emanuel.

“You can say that again,” said Dean.

The others looked at Dean.

“I need a drink,” said Dean, as he stumbled off to the library for some whiskey.

Emanuel noticed Cas’ saddened look but didn’t mention it. He encouraged Sam to describe his case and concerns.

Sam told them about the desecration of the corpse, their investigation, the explosion, and their consultation with Rowena. Castiel was surprised by Rowena’s rise in authority. Emanuel only muttered: ‘Hell has a queen now.’ Castiel examined the finger and Sam and Dean’s spell work.

“This could’ve come from heaven,” said Castiel. “This Brent is not a prophet, or I would know. Genuine faith healing is not unheard of. It’s usually mediated through an angel, but with the war in heaven there are few angels left.”

“You mean like Sister Jo,” said Sam.

“This seems nothing like her. I’ll have to do some more investigation,” said Cas. “We will need to recover these fingers. Whoever has them knows their power and could unleash something deadly.”

“That’s what we are afraid of,” said Sam.

“I will go and investigate the explosion and see what I can find,” said Cas.

“I will accompany you,” Emanuel told Cas.

“You can’t go dressed like that,” said Sam. “I mean, you will be conspicuous in a cloak and tunic. We have some extra clothes in storage here. I can find you something so you will blend in better.”

“I will accept your offer,” said Emanuel. “Lead the way.”

Sam flinched at first like he expected Emanuel to refuse, then he steadied himself and said: “this way,’ gesturing for Emanuel to follow.

After Sam and Emanuel disappeared down one of the bunker’s many hallways, Castiel was left alone with Dean in the next room.

Dean sat at a table in the library with a bottle of whiskey and a half-finished glass. Cas approached him cautiously.

“Dean,” he said.

“I was rude to you. I know,” said Dean.

“I never meant to hurt you,” said Cas.

Cas sat down at the table with Dean.

“Your trench coat smells nice.”

“It had mud on it and Emanuel had it cleaned.”

“So, he is a dry-cleaner too,” said Dean.

“He had the Seraph clean it.”

“So, he has an army of angels too.”

“Dean, I came because you called.”

“Sam wanted a consult.”

“Dean.” Cas tried to make his voice soft and soothing.

“So how did you hook up with him?”

“I prayed and a Seraph heard me and took me to him.”

“A Seraph?”

“Yes. They guard God’s throne.”

“Oh, great. Having Chuck pissed off at us is not bad enough, so you go get his personal guardian angels involved,” said Dean.

“It’s not like that,” said Cas.

“You just keep making it worse,” said Dean. “And Jesus? Everyone thought he was dead.”

“I did too.”

“You know after all the crappy things I’ve done in my life. How do you expect me to be fine with him?” said Dean.

“I’ve done things far worse than you,” said Cas. “He hasn’t judged me, yet.”

“I’m sure not a sheep. A goat, definitely: an angry, violent, and bitter one,” said Dean. “Now Sam, he has a pure heart. He could be saved, not me.”

[](https://wordpress.us14.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=7102a97ff3d2b56143218cbc8&id=5bcf6dba8b)Sam and Emanuel entered the library. Dean and Cas fell silent. Sam found Emanuel some different clothes to wear. Some faded jeans that were tattered at the cuffs, a blue flannel shirt over a tee, and a pair of boots.

Dean dispatched Sam a look, raising his eyebrows as if to say: ‘Really Sam, you had to dress him like us?’

Sam cocked his head sideways and returned Dean’s look, insinuating: ‘these are the only clothes we have.’

Castiel stood up from the chair he sat in. Dean too.

“We should investigate the explosion before it’s all cleaned up,” said Cas.

Castiel led Emanuel back up the steps to the entrance and opened the door for him. Sam and Dean followed them outside.

“So you can teleport?” Dean asked Emanuel.

“I’m not an angel. I can’t just pop around like they do. Do you see wings?”

Dean shook his head, no. “How do you get around?”

“I hitch a ride with a Seraph.”

“Are they coming for you? asked Sam.

“They are all around you, do you see them?”

Sam tightened his mouth and glanced around. “Are they always around?” he said.

“They are always around me, but don’t worry they are not spying on you.”

Emanuel smiled and winked at Sam.

“My ride is here. Lead the way Angel of the Lord,” he said.

Emanuel lifted off the ground. Castiel flapped his wings and teleported. Emanuel suddenly whisked away in the air and vanished.


	13. Burning, Burning, Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Emanuel make and investigation of their own of the faith healer. 
> 
> This chapter is unfinished. After the series final, I lost interest in finishing it. The rest that was suppose to happen was that Emanuel tells Cas a story about his mother, Emanuel buries the faith healers remains in a secret place. He was a believer in Jesus. Louis melts in a mysterious death.

A bulldozer pushed debris off the roadway so the bloat of voyeuristic traffic that was pulled to the tableau of devastation could pass by more efficiently. The firemen had the fires mostly under control. One section of the roof still burned. The police had done their duty and surrounded the site with yellow tape. Employees were evacuated and the injured taken to local hospitals. All that had been down. Police cruisers with flashing lights directed the glut of cars around the pile of rubble that they came to gawk at, and hem and ha over, and speak suitable sentimental and habituated utterances of their concern to prove their humanity and good Christian hearts.

So nobody noticed when an Angel of the Lord and the Redeemer appeared out of nowhere, one wearing a trench coat and the other in flannel.

Castiel teleported and appeared under a tree on the backside of the site, where there was a nicely landscaped strip of land to lend the industrial building an attractive look to the middle class neighborhood next door. The other side of the building was your typical industrial parking lot facing a busy roadway. The building had collapsed into a pile of rubble. Moments later a Seraph appeared carrying a human figure in its arms and set Emanuel down next to Cas. The sudden appearance of a six-wing glowing Seraph should have attracted some attention, but it didn’t.

[](https://ceh3167.files.wordpress.com/2020/01/copy-of-diypackage-templates-3-e1579310461978.jpg)“I’m going to go look around,” said Cas. “Wait for me here, if you would.”

Emanuel nodded his head to agree, and Cas vanished to inspect the ruins.

Cas left Emanuel standing in the shade under the tree. It was an ornamental tree, a dogwood, but not in bloom and it didn’t provide much shade. He thought of Jonah of his gourd vine; he remembered the time he sat with Lazarus under the olive trees in the garden at Bethany. Emanuel remembered other trees to but pushed them out of his mind.

He surveyed the sky and the field around him. He gazed at the shining Seraphim them that surrounded him, who had been his constant companions for centuries now, and felt grateful for their constants loyalty. He made a request.

“Gather unto me the remains of the gifted one. Scour the ruins and bring every bit of him into my presents.”

At the Emanuel’s direction the Seraphim scattered over the wreckage. The traffic of the voyeurs continued to pass by, but no one witnessed the choir of Seraphim collecting every scrap of the faith healer. It only took a few moments.

When Castiel reappeared from his investigation, the Seraphim had already accumulated a pile of charred skin, bone, and organs, and small unidentified fragments down to the level of strings of DNA that they placed at the Emanuel’s feet.

“I have gone over the entire site and see nothing unusual,” said Cas. “I see you are gathering his remains.”

“He was one of mine. His faith was honest and genuine,” said Emanuel. “There are no monsters here, Castiel. It is the humans who are the monsters. They became selfish and greedy.”

Cas and Emanuel looked on as the Seraphim finished their task.

“This reminds me of the story of my mother told me, after the angels raised her to heaven, Said Emanuel. “Would you like to hear it?”

“Yes, I would.”

“You have heard of her many appearances on earth? This is one of them.”

Castiel nodded.

“My mother,” began Emanuel, “she … “


	14. There Once Was a Shepard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emanuel tell Cas a story about sheep. This was meant to be a silly fluffy chapter. It also was to introduce that Gabriel was still alive. Gabriel and the other archangels were part of the plot line I abandoned in light of the series finale. 
> 
> Alas, this chapter is unfinished. 
> 
> If you want to read the story about the sheep and the Unicorn, you can find it at 
> 
> https://ceh3167.wordpress.com/my-stories/christmas-with-uni-the-unicorn/?frame-nonce=8b2d1988f5

No one dared to disturb Emanuel in the room they settled him into. Both Sam and Dean were awake early in the morning. Dean got his fours hours of sleep and more. He even had a steamy tree he couldn’t remember. Emanuel sleeping down the hall made Dean feel shameful that his dreams were sexually impure. Dean had never felt embarrassed about his nocturnal exploits before.

Sam too was restless through the night. Emanuel’s presence dredged up sensations of unworthiness, and the more Sam reflected on all the disasters of his life: the demon and blood, all the things he did when he was soulless. He started the apocalypse when he freed Lucifer! They stopped it. He made amends. He spent time in hell. What more could he do?

And Castiel, he didn’t sleep. He watched over the sleepers in the night, as usual.

When morning activity returned to the bunker, the brothers bickered over their breakfast choices: the relative desirability of meat vs. vegetables. Emanuel still didn’t stir. Cas was persuaded to check up on him.

“He’s not there,” came Cas’ announcement in the bunker’s galley.

“He’s gone?” said Dean, almost relived.

“Have you checked the rest of the rooms?” said Sam.

“I have. He is nowhere in the bunker.”

“He must have left in the night,” said Dean.

“I watched the whole night and I never saw him.”

“Somehow he slipped past you,” said Sam.

“Yes, and I think I know how he did,” said Cas. “I’m going to go look for him.”

Moments later Cas was out of the bunker’s metal door. He flapped his wings and surveyed the country side. Emanuel was nearby, snuggled up under a sycamore tree among a flock of napping sheep in the mid-morning sun.

The ever vigilant sheep bleated as Cas approached. The sleeping figure stirred from the agitation of the flock. He lay with his head resting on the wooly flank of a young ram and with his arms wrapped around a soft lamb. He was dressed in his coat and tunic.

“Good morning Angel of the Lord,” the Emanuel said as he opened his eyes.

As Emanuel rose to his feet, the flock scattered around him and began grazing on the early autumn grass.

“The grass is not as sweet as it is in the springtime, but it’s adequate to the season,” Emanuel told the sheep.

“I see you are cross with me,” Emanuel told Cas.

“Why did you leave the bunker? I would’ve gotten you what ever you wanted.”

“I know you would’ve. The room you put me into, the bunker and its corridors, made me feel like I was in a cave, even a sepulcher. I wanted to be outside. I wanted to be with the creatures. I am after all a creature of the earth, where I sleep and dream.”

“I was afraid you might have gotten into trouble,” said Cas.

“What trouble could I get into with the seraphim as my constant monitors?”

“Are you hungry?” asked Cas. “Do you eat?”

“I’m human Cas, so yes I do eat. I actually am hungry. I haven’t eaten for a long time.”

“How long has it been since you last ate?”

“Years, Castiel, many years.”

Cas’ face flashed with surprise. “How can that be?” he said.

“The living waters of the seraphim nourish me. Separated from it, I become hungry.”

“What would you like to eat?” said Cas. “I will find it for you.”

“Back in my first life, it was common for my people to eat veal, since many of my people were shepherds,” said Emanuel. “We celebrated Passover with the flesh of lambs and remembered the lamb’s blood splattered on our doorways to tell the Angel of Death to move on.”

“Apparently, I was there but don’t remember.”

“It was before I was born,” said Emanuel.

“Death is an awesome figure.”

“Certainly the most intimidating of the four horsemen,” said Cas, “but I particularly despise Famine.”

“Why is that?”

“He made me hungry,” said Cas. “Normally angels don’t eat. He caused my vessel to starve for meat. I had an insatiable hunger for hamburger. He made me into a fool.”

[](https://ceh3167.files.wordpress.com/2020/10/sheep-722043_1280-e1602121749385.jpg)“Meat is the last thing I want to eat,” said Emanuel. “See these sheep. They are innocent and trusting creatures. Human prey on them and slaughter them without remorse to fill their appetites for always even more. I repented of eating meat.”

“Sam will be joyful. He is mostly vegetarian.”

“Don’t tell these gentle creatures that we ever ate them or spilled their blood in the past,” said Emanuel.

“Do you speak with the sheep?” asked Cas.

“We spoke and dreamed of Uni, their beloved unicorn.”

“I have never seen a real unicorn. Surely they are not real,” said Cas.

“In the lives of the animals, Uni is very real,” said Emanuel. “In fact, on the night I was born, shepherds came to visit me with their sheep. That night the most beautiful rainbow unicorn came to visit. He kissed me on the forehead. I remember that kiss very well. Yes, I believe in Uni the unicorn too.”

Castiel stood facing Emanuel with a beleaguered and unbelieving expression on his face.

“Ask Gabriel. He was there. He can testify to my story.”

“Gabriel is dead. I’d told you that.”

“Don’t be so sure dear Cas. Gabriel likes to fake his death,” said Emanuel. “He could turn up any time.”

“Are you saying Gabriel is still alive?”

“He might still surprise us yet.”

“Gabriel’s life would fill me with joy. So many angels have been lost. So many because of me,” said Cas.

“Your joy might not be misdirected.”

Castiel put his hands over his mouth and muttered, “my brother might still be alive.”

***

It was lunchtime when Emanuel and Cas returned to the bunker. Sam and Dean fidgeted around the library at a loss for something to do. Sam search the Internet for any new incidents related to their case.

“Some man in Louisiana says he was attacked by a rosebush,” Sam told Dean.

“Sounds like the nut job,” said dean. “If not, it’s too far away. Let some other hunter handle it. We have company.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unfinished.


	15. Rosebud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emanuel visits the site of the rosebush attack. Cas confesses a dark secret he has been keeping from Dean to Emanuel.

Cas and Emanuel approached the farmhouse from a grove of trees. They didn’t want to draw attention to themselves. Rural folks are always on the look of for suspicious people from the city. The two men in business suits approaching the front stoop were obviously city and out of place in the Louisiana back country on this humid fall day in the south. The humidity didn’t bother the angel. He had left his trench coat behind since it seemed out of place. The other man was stiff and uncomfortable and kept shifting his shoulders back and forth to get the ridged fabric to settle comfortably over his shoulders.

“Whose idea was it to wear such constraining fashion?” said Emanuel, “especially in weather like this? Where I come from, even though we lived on the edge of a desert, it was cold and dry, and our clothes were warm and soft.”

“Humans are often harassed by environmental conditions,” said Cas.

“I am human, Cas.” Emanuel continued to fidget with the stupid strip of fabric they knotted around his neck.

“Follow my lead,” said Cas. “Just as we practiced.”

The two men mounted the wooden steps that were rotting away in the damp air onto a gray painted porch that wrapped around the side of the house. This veranda was unadorned, without any benches or swing or even a potted plant. The house only had one floor and presumably a root cellar below.

Castiel opened an unpainted screen door, its frame darkened by dirty fingerprints, and its screen bulging out from years of hands pushing on it, and knocked on the weather-beaten door with white flaking paint.

An unshaven man in work pants and wearing a yellowing wife beater opened the door and suspiciously glared at the suited men.

“Mr. Jarry?” Cas asked.

The man made a curt nod of his head.

“I’m agent Beyoncé and this is my partner agent J. C. We are from the F.B.I.”

Cas pulled his fake ID from his suit jacket. Emanuel did the same being careful to hold his badge up-right and not reproduce Castiel’s fumble that Dean teased him about while Dean forged a fake ID for Emanuel. He decided to overlook the falsehood and be impressed by Dean’s skills of fakery.

“Okay,” the man said, drawing out the vowel sounds. “What do ya want?”

“We want to ask you about the rosebush incident,” said Cas.

“People thought I was some dumb hick.”

“Your story seems to fit a pattern of occurrences across the south we have been following.”

“I knew it! Some supernatural event right?”

“We can’t say if it’s occult related yet,” said Cas. “Could you tell us what happened?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of this chapter was written before the series finale, the remainder after it.


End file.
